


Your Name Burnt In My Ceiling

by theheartbelieves



Series: Once, There Was Only Dark [2]
Category: True Detective
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal, Analingus, Angry Sex, Angst, Blowjobs, Breakups, Canon-Typical Violence, Consensual But Not Safe Or Sane, D/s elements, Denial, Divorce, Drug Use, Emotional Sex, Enthusiastic Consent, First Time, From Sex to Love, Frot, Hand Jobs, HartCohle - Freeform, I know nothing about the real world only feelings so please forgive me if shit is wrong, Idiots in Love, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Marty POV, Marty ain't straight, Masturbation, Mutual Pining, Or Is It?, Past Tense, Rough Sex, Slow Burn, Subdrop, Therapy, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unreliable Narrator, Unrequited Love, Unsafe Sex, denial with a capital D, get your shit together, lots of fucking, no really, sexual identity crisis, they fuck
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-26
Updated: 2018-11-11
Packaged: 2019-08-07 23:24:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 67,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16418012
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theheartbelieves/pseuds/theheartbelieves
Summary: After shit exploded with Maggie and Rust, Marty found himself in a free fall that he didn't care to stop.That is, until he ran smack dab into the man he'd been thinking about for months.





	1. When There's No One Left To Pawn

**Author's Note:**

  * For [zhelaniye](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zhelaniye/gifts).
  * Translation into 中文 available: [[translation] 君名灼我心 Your Name Burnt In My Ceiling](https://archiveofourown.org/works/17616887) by [hieroglyphics](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hieroglyphics/pseuds/hieroglyphics)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All Marty wanted was a drink. He got more than he was bargaining for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This first chapter borders on dubcon. There's no actual sex but better safe than sorry. It's nowhere near as bad as that One Scene between Rust and Maggie, so I didn't include it in the tags.
> 
> I will put chapter specific warnings in the notes before each chapter.

###  **Week One**

####  **Friday**

Marty had always hated the phrase _to hit rock bottom_. He felt it was a cop out for those too lazy or too incapable of realising when their lives were falling apart. He thought that there was a long fall before bedrock; plenty of time for someone to get their shit together.

That is, until he found himself in freefall:

Fucking around on Maggie…

Maggie finding out…

Maggie sleeping with Rust…

Marty punching Rust…

Once Marty had lost his footing, he couldn't seem to regain it. He’d hit so many ledges on the way down and he was still falling; flailing for purchase. Because as bad as the falling was, the impact was going to hurt worse. And knowing himself, he’d find a way to hit bottom and then dig himself a nice little grave out of stubborn, self-destructive spite.

Marty put one foot in front of the other, bitterly watching his life pass in days that all looked much the same, one week much like the next. He’d thought the routine of married life and fatherhood had been stifling, but this was far worse. He was drowning; determined to drown.

He’d run out of people in his life to blame - fucked them over or pushed them away - and now there was a morbid curiosity inside of him to see just how bad it could get. And then there were his so-called friends who'd turned out in the end to be merely coworkers and acquaintances. Marty was alone, with only his misery and memories for company.

He’d been drinking a lot recently in the months since he went over the edge. He'd always been a drinker, but it had been an end-of-week social thing. Now it was a different bar every night. He finally understood what Rust had meant by not being able to think of a good reason not to. Marty didn’t have a single goddamn reason not to and so many good reasons to drink himself into oblivion.

He mixed it up so that he never became a regular; so that he had no one to call him out on his self destructive behaviour. Marty wanted anonymity. Between Maggie and Rust, he felt too known. Their accusations - the way they’d looked at him - were too sharp a mirror for Marty to look into for long. Even six months down the line, he was stinging from the reflection he’d glimpsed of himself.

But in a cruel and poetic turn, Marty didn’t know what to do with himself without them in his life. It wasn’t just the loneliness; it wasn’t just that he didn’t have anyone to keep him in check anymore… After a bit of a cooling-off period, he’d tried reaching out to Maggie but he’d used up every drop of good will he'd ever had with her. She was capital-D Done and Marty didn’t blame her one bit. At this point, his apology wouldn’t mean jackshit to her. His word was meaningless.

Rust, too, had wiped his hands clean of Marty. Marty had gone over to Rust’s place just a few days after their- _disagreement_ in the precinct parking lot. He needed to apologise. He needed… fuck, he needed to hear Rust’s side of the story. After Marty’s righteous indignation had burned out, the ache of his injuries reminded him just how much of fool he was. It was then he’d been overcome with regret.

Rust wasn’t the type to fuck another man’s wife. Rust wasn’t Marty. Rust was so much better in all the ways Marty was weak and human. Rust saw through all the bullshit that Marty tried to pull and Marty resented the hell out of it until… it was just _gone_.

As much as it hurt to know how Maggie and Rust felt about him, Marty no longer had anyone that _saw_ him.

The boys at the precinct looked at him and only saw what he could do for them. The people he encountered during his day looked through him. He might as well not exist. Between the long hours alone in the car and the long hours alone in his empty apartment, sometimes Marty felt like he didn’t exist. So he drank.

He was aware how pathetic it was to get blasted to the point of his memories becoming flashbulb burst snapshots rather than coherent, ordered things. He just couldn’t help himself.

Couldn’t help himself; his pitiful, middle-aged mantra.

The sad fact was that he didn’t know how to be sober anymore. Every time he let his mind wander, he relived the shit he’d done. He’d start with his cheating and invariably, it always ended with Marty fixating on Rust, particularly their confrontation in front of the precinct - the way Rust couldn’t meet his eyes, the shame in the slant of his shoulders, the _sorry_ inherent in the way he’d said Marty’s name. Marty couldn’t handle the way remembering made him hate himself so he tried his darnedest to forget.

The blows just kept coming. He was in the middle of one of the worst dry spells of his career - a cruel voice in the back of his head suggested that maybe Rust had been right; that Marty owed his success to the man. To top it all off, he’d been served with papers earlier in the week. Maggie was divorcing him.

He’d been promising Maggie for months that he’d file; dragging his feet, thinking that maybe it’d be like last time. He’d been wrong.

He didn’t even know why he’d delayed. There was nothing there for him anymore, but being with Maggie had been safe. As uncomfortable as he’d been, as unhappy… There was security in that marriage.

All Marty wanted was to be drunk and then unconscious. If he could land a fuck somewhere in the middle there, that'd be great, but he seemed cursed in that area now too. All the woman that had flocked to him when he'd been wearing a wedding band, seemed to run from him now.

The universe certainly had a funny sense of humour.

Which is how he ended up in what appeared to be a gay bar outside the city limits. He’d just wanted a drink after a long day of door-to-door interviews that still felt odd and lopsided without his partner to his right.

He’d chosen this place on a whim. It was after eight on a Friday night. There was nothing that advertised the place as a gay dive; just a red neon sign out front that declared in obvious simplicity: _BAR_. Marty had liked that sign's honesty. It looked like every other shithole Marty had found himself in recently: low and dark and slightly musty. It took him sitting down at the bar and ordering his drink before he noticed that the place was full of men - and only men.

 _Shit_ , he thought, looking around. There were guys dancing to some pop-country song in a clear space on the floor. _Some fucking detective you are._

But he’d already ordered a tallboy from the biker-looking dude behind the bar that looked an awful lot like a bearded Sam Elliott. Fine, he’d finish his beer and look for another bar; someplace he could flirt with a pretty girl and if he was lucky - and she was really drunk - maybe get laid.

Easyrider poured his beer into a chilled mug and clunked it down in front of Marty. Foam sloshed over the rim and ran in frothy rivulets down the glass, leaving a ring on the beaten up wooden bar.

Or maybe Marty would just stay here. He was exhausted in a bone-deep way he was starting to associate with middle age. Besides he didn’t feel up to being rejected anyway - and he _would_ be rejected. At least here, he’d be left alone or even get to do some rejecting of his own. Marty knew he had a certain appeal with this crowd.

It wasn’t like Marty had a problem with gays. Hell, he’d fooled around with a few guys back in his football camp days. It was the done thing when pickings were slim. But… he felt like it was something you grew out of. You met the right girl, you got married, you had kids, you left that shit behind. And it wasn’t like Marty missed it. He didn’t.

He still noticed men sometimes - a confusing mix of attraction and admiration that he didn’t have the time or inclination to decipher. Probably just a holdover from his days of frenzied hand jobs in empty locker rooms - but that didn’t mean he wanted to do that nowadays, let alone actually fuck another dude.

Marty made a face at the thought. He finished his first beer and watched the patrons. Most of them were stereotypical, Southern, good-ole-boys. That is to say, they looked like him: corn-fed, jeans-and-flannel-wearing, cowboy wanna-bes. He wasn’t sure why he was surprised. He supposed he had a certain picture in his head about how gay men were supposed to look.

Whatever, they weren’t Marty’s type. The bartender sneaked up behind him and snagged his empty glass.

“Another?” The voice was younger but rumbling and full of character.

Marty swivelled on his stool to face him. He was going to settle his tab and- The young man smiled at him, all pale skin, dimples, sharp cheekbones, and warm eyes. _Wow…_ This wasn’t the bartender that he’d ordered from originally.

“Uh… yeah. Yes, please.” Marty was staring, but the boy didn’t seem to notice. He turned and grabbed a clean glass. “Gimme a whiskey, too.”

The beer and shot were slid over to him with a cheeky wink, and Marty felt his face flush. Yeah, he definitely still noticed.

And he _definitely_ still had It, even if the kid was doing it for the tips. Marty could tell when flirting was real.

Marty pounded the whiskey, grimacing as it burned warmly in his chest, then angled himself back towards the room. It wouldn’t do to be too obvious. The first tendrils of relaxation spread through his limbs and Marty let himself entertain the thought of this bartender. It’d been far too long since Marty had gotten laid. Beth had been the last, just before kicking him to the curb; his appeal gone when his wife had left him, he supposed.

Marty definitely had a type. Besides _wild_ , he liked pretty, and god, this boy was _pretty_. He knew he’d never have the cojones to do anything other than look, but the beer was cold and it would get him drunk. Maybe tonight, just looking would be good enough.

Marty turned further away from the bar so it looked like he was surveying the room, but he was really watching out of the corner of his eye. The young man had wavy brown hair that curled messily across his forehead. He kept having to push it back with his wrist while he served customers.

He was a flirt - like most bartenders Marty had met - but he wasn’t obvious about it; charming and attentive but not over-the-top. Marty bet he made out like a bandit with tips around here. The longer he watched, the more familiar he seemed.

It wasn’t until the kid had a lull in orders and leaned back on the railing behind the bar that it occurred to Marty who he reminded him of: younger and paler and softer, but definitely _Him_. Marty’s mind skittered away from thinking about Him, but the whiskey was doing its job, lowering his inhibitions.

Marty remembered knocking on His door all those months ago; pounding on it; pleading through it. He’d been so scared to lose Him too, even if they weren’t partners anymore.

He remembered using his spare key and expecting an argument, yelling, anger; anything but the cold silence that had greeted him. The usually Spartan place had been even emptier than usual. There’d been books shoved into a corner, the mattress leaned against the wall. There’d been some boxes, a locker…

Marty had kept it all, moving it into his own sad bachelor pad, in the hope that He’d come back to claim it, but for six months it’d gathered dust. Marty’s memories weren’t allowed the same courtesy. He finally gave in and thought: _Rust_.

“Never seen you around here,” came a voice from behind him. Marty looked back. It was the cute bartender. He swivelled on the bar stool. The young man extended his hand across the bar. “I’m Clancy.”

Marty took the offered hand and shook, a little shocked to be the sole focus of this kid’s brown eyes. It was those eyes that let Marty push thoughts of Rust away. Rust’s gaze had never been this warm.

“As in Clarence?” he asked. “Kind of an old fashioned name for a kid.”

Clancy made a face and Marty mentally kicked himself. Why’d he have to go and insult the guy?

“Kinda into old fashioned,” Clancy said, leaning over the bar with a significant look. “What’s your name, old man?”

_Touche._

“Marty. Nice to meet you.” He realised that they weren’t so much shaking hands anymore as holding them, and he snatched his back.

“Shy?” Clancy teased.

“Straight.” Marty averted his eyes and toyed with his beer.

“Shame.” Marty’s eyes snapped up and caught Clancy giving him a look that clearly communicated that he didn’t believe Marty. Simultaneously, they laughed. He liked this kid. He answered the playfulness with a shrug and a _whaddaya gonna do_ expression.

“Okay, Clancy. Gimme another.” He held up his bottle. He supposed he could hang here for a while. He had no place better to be.

Clancy was happy to oblige and Marty was happy to slam back another shot. Hell, maybe tonight he’d be reckless enough to do something more than look; really commit to this mid-life crisis.

But then Marty glanced around at the crowd and froze, catching sight of a man against the far wall.; just snatches of features through the crowd.

 _No_ , he thought. _That’s impossible._

It had to be the power of suggestion. It couldn’t be-

The world slowed down. There was a dizzying sense of vertigo. Marty would recognise that man anywhere, in any context: short, sandy hair sticking up messily; sharp cheekbones that screamed for a good meal; indolent eyes the colour of stormy skies. He was watching Marty, head lowered, eyes raised.

Rust.

 _Rust_.

It was him.

 _Him_. He was staring at Marty. All the air left the room, snuffing out the alcohol-manufactured happiness he’d been feeling.

Suddenly he was six months back: Standing in front Rust’s rental, breaking into the place, wandering from room to room, hearing the roaring silence in his head as he realised Rust was gone.

Six months ago, Marty’d still had hope that Rust would be back. He’d thought he’d be able to track him down.

Marty rose from his barstool without remembering making the decision.

“Wha- Where are you-?” Clancy asked, but it was suddenly unimportant. Everything except for getting to Rust was unimportant. He muttered something about being right back.

People crossed in between Rust and him but Marty could close his eyes if he wanted to and still sense him. He’d spent seven years feeling that presence by his side. Rust turned and walked towards the back of the bar. As soon as his eyes left Marty, the air rushed back into the room, bringing the clamoring noises with it. Marty elbowed his way through the strangers, using his bulk to force a path. He was drunk and clumsy, but he couldn’t let Rust escape. Not again.

He followed Rust through a swinging door into a back hallway. There were bathrooms, a storerooms, an office… but no indication where Rust had gone. He barged into the men’s bathroom- Empty.

“ _Fu-_ ” His curse was cut off with a shove between his shoulder blades. Marty stumbled, catching himself on the stained sink and whipping around. The world swayed around him. “Rust-”

“Shut the fuck up for once in your damn life, Marty,” Rust hissed. He looked rough up close, like he hadn’t been sleeping enough and drinking too much. He was gaunt. He looked strung out and pulled taught; fragile. Rust locked the bathroom door behind him, leaning back against it, keeping distance between them. “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“I- I was having a drink,” Marty stuttered, still reeling from the surprise of seeing Rust. Rust snarled a sound half-way between a scoff and a growl.

“The fuck you were. Since when do you drink at gay bars?” The doubt and his tone cut Marty like a knife and he winced.

“I didn’t mean-” Marty sucked in a breath and straightened. He didn’t have to take this. “Hey, fuck _you_ , man. Since when do you, huh?”

“I’ve always fucked men,” Rust deadpanned, folding his arms across his chest and leveling that maddeningly empty poker face at Marty. “Never pegged you as interested though.”

“So it’s a day of revelations for both of us,” Marty quipped in return but flushed, ruining any bravado he might have achieved. He wasn’t going to be able to meet Rust’s anger. He was too caught off guard. “I didn’t realise it was a gay bar…”

Rust pushed away from door and stalked toward him. His eyes were bloodshot and Marty would bet good money that he was high right now. But who was he to judge; he was drunk - drunk in that thick-tongued, muddled way that made the world seem distant and not quite real. Marty braced himself against the counter, ready for a fight but hoping it wouldn’t come to that.

For some reason, he didn’t anticipate violence from his ex partner, but there was still something dark and predatory in the way the other man intruded on his space.

“That’s what I came here to do, _Martin_ . I came here to find someone to _fuck_ … And if you’re here for the same reason, well… you know what they say: two birds, one-” Rust touched the tip of his pointer finger to Marty’s chest. Marty batted it away, and that’s when Rust exploded.

He grabbed Marty’s wrist and twisted it viciously. In the blink of an eye, Marty was spun around and pinned with his pelvis painfully trapped between Rust and the edge of the bathroom counter. He couldn’t move if he wanted. He arm screamed at him even as panic raised alarm bells.

“Get the fuck off me!” He shouted. “I don’t want to hurt-”

“What? Hurt me? You think you could? You think you ever had a chance against me, Marty? I could have put you down the second you came at me in that fucking parking lot. I _let_ you get in a few good blows.” Rust bent over him and growled into his ear. “What do ya say? I could fuck you, Marty. We could pretend you didn’t have a choice to appease your heterosexual sensibilities. Would you like that? Always wondered what all the girls got their panties in a twist for over you. You’re nothing special, far as I can see.”

“Stop fucking around, Rust,” Marty warned, but his words came out as a wheeze. He couldn’t catch his breath. He was panting hard. He knew Rust would never… but just hearing the threat had his heart pounding and his brain spinning.

“Think you need someone to show you what you’re missin’,” Rust whispered hoarsely, moving his hips and Jesus fuck- Rust was hard. His ground his erection against Marty’s ass.

Marty struggled desperately, grunting. Something in his shoulder felt on the verge of tearing but the pain was secondary because something keen and sharp tugged low in his gut. Rust thrust against him. Marty’s groin rubbed against the lip of the counter. It wasn’t painful. It wasn’t pleasurable. It was both of these things, wrapped up inside hot humiliation.

What it was was deeply uncomfortable, because what Marty wanted to feel was rage, not… whatever this was roiling in his gut.

“Come on. Please- Rust-” Blood flushed his face and he pressed his forehead against the cracked porcelain of the sink, trying not to react, but his body had different ideas. The next time Rust moved against him, Marty pushed back, offering resistance. Rust chuckled low and pleased and dark.

“I could fuck you just like this. You’d let me. You _want_ me to.”

Marty couldn’t help himself. He shivered. It wasn’t true. What he was feeling was too complicated and embarrassing to be _want_ , but god help him, he’d let Rust… he’d let him fuck him here and now.

He deserved it.

Rust’s hand slid around Marty’s hips, along his belt. This time, Marty couldn’t hold back. He made a choked noise back in his throat as soon as Rust’s long fingers toyed with the buckle.

“Let me hear you say it, Marty. Ask me to fuck you.” Rust rocked against him. “I wanna hear you beg.”

One hand ran down Marty’s inseam, so close to his cock - half hard in confusion; the erection from adrenaline but just as responsive as if it were simply lust. Marty was drunk and he hadn’t got any since shit went down half a year ago. He wanted this - hard and fast. He wanted to get laid so badly he was choking on it.

“Rust, please…” He didn’t know what he was asking for exactly, only that he couldn’t stay like this, caught in this agonising limbo. “Please…”

Rust leaned over him so that his chest was pressed flush to Marty’s back. Rust felt thin and as unforgiving as iron against him. Marty glanced up and could see Rust in the mirror.

“Why would I ever fuck someone as pathetic as you?” he whispered flatly into Marty’s ear, then abruptly stepped back. His voice dripped with disdain but his face- Marty had to look away from that face because it didn’t match Rust’s tone. The contradiction was so jarring that Marty couldn’t even label the expression he’d seen.

There was the click of a lock and Rust was suddenly gone. He didn’t have to look to know. Some vital energy had disappeared from the room, leaving Marty numb and alone.

Marty couldn’t move. His mind was still playing catch-up. He wasn’t sure if it was from the loss of Rust’s body heat or if it was shock, but he began to shake. He pushed himself up on weak arms and stared at himself in the grimy mirror above the sink. He hardly recognised himself. He looked pale and scared.

He _was_ scared. He was terrified. What had just happened?

He had to get out of here.

He stumbled from the bathroom and called a taxi from the payphone in the hallway, hanging from it because he didn’t trust his legs to support him. He slipped out the employee exit and stood in the dark, inhaling the scent of rotten garbage and cooling asphalt. There was a bare stretch of cracked concrete, the dark silhouette of a shed and hurricane fencing.

The air was soothing on his overheated skin. In a haze, he tipped his head back and had to step back; his balance - both literal and figurative - was completely gone. The stars swayed above him. He let the numbness take over and thought about nothing until the taxi pulled up, crunching over the gravel. The noise dragged him back to earth.

He crashed back into his body as he climbed into the back of the cab and mumbled his address. He waited for the anger, the violation, the betrayal to flare to life. He would welcome it to chase away the chill of mortification, but it wasn’t his temper that warmed him. His mind replayed what had happened.

Something sharp and urgent coiled low in his belly.

_Fuck._

He was sober enough now to realise that his hard-on wasn’t just from the rush of the anticipation of danger. At the same time, he was still drunk enough to think about it, to act on it. In the back of his mind, he knew he should be freaking out but as soon as he got through his front door, he shoved a hand down his pants and stroked himself.

He thought about the strength in Rust’s arms; the easy way he’d pinned Marty in place; the heat of him - body, breath, eyes; the hard length of his cock against Marty’s ass…

Marty didn’t want to think about that. He consciously tried to shy away from that thought, but again his body had other ideas. It knew what it wanted.

What would it feel like to have a dick pressed up against him like that without clothes, skin-on-skin?

It wasn’t an unpleasant thought - more uncomfortable; his reaction lukewarm - but then Marty imagined how it would have been if Rust had fucked him in that bathroom: Rust sliding his cock between Marty’s ass cheeks, Rust holding him down out of passion instead of anger, Rust fucking Marty because they both wanted…

Marty came hard, arching his back and knocking his head against the wall of his front hall.

He stood there panting for a long moment, come drying on his hand and his mind finally catching up with what had happened over the last hour. He’d found Rust. Rust had- what? Propositioned him? Threatened him? Assaulted him? Yes. All of that.

And he had wanted it. _God_ , he had wanted it.

He wiped his hand on his shirt, mind slowing down and begging for sleep. He was still drunk, he reasoned. He’d be back to normal in the morning and then he could write all this off as a strange mistake after one too many drinks. It wasn’t like he’d have to face the consequences of this. He’d never see Rust again - his gut twisted at this thought - so all this wouldn’t matter.

After tonight, it was clear that the reason Marty hadn’t been able to find him in the weeks after their fight was because he hadn’t wanted to be found, least of all by Marty.

Marty stumbled to bed, stripping off his clothes along the way. He’d deal with it in the morning. He was just drunk and it was late. Things always seemed darkest before dawn, he reminded himself before falling face-first into bed.

He’d deal with all of it in the morning.

It wasn’t until Marty was on the precipice of sleep that it struck him: The expression Marty hadn’t been able to name in the heat of the moment had been sadness. Rust had looked sad.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title taken from the song Beat the Devil’s Tattoo by Black Motorcycle Club.
> 
> For reference:  
> Clancy is based on Bryan Dechart  
> Easyrider is based on a blend of Sam Elliot/Clancy Brown (and yes, Clancy's name is stolen from this Clancy. Blame DBH.)


	2. Throw The Man You Used To Be Away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty thought it was over; that Rust was finally in his rear view. Boy, was he wrong.

####  **Saturday**

It was barely dawn when he was dropped off in front of the bar. It looked completely different in the light of day, or maybe in the light of sobriety. Although he still didn’t think it looked like a gay bar.

His car was where he’d left it, a lone sentinel on the black asphalt. Marty felt like death warmed over. He’d had too much to drink and too much had occurred. He rubbed his neck, and his wrist and shoulder twinged in reminder. 

Except he hadn’t drunk enough to forget, and he still wasn’t entirely sure if he wanted to remember what he’d done. Or rather, what had nearly been done to him… 

He’d spent a fitful night dreaming of being bent over helplessly. In his dreams, he’d begged for it and Rust - even though he couldn’t see him, Marty had known it was him - had given it to him. He’d woken hard and aching, ignoring it out of sheer stubborn principle. He  _ did not _ want that. Especially from Rust.

He shook his head, winced, and walked to his car. He just wanted to get back home and sleep through his day off. Once he was beside his car he could see behind the bar. What he’d thought was a shed the previous night was actually a tiny ranch house, but that wasn’t what caused him pause.

It was the red pickup truck parked next to it, partially obscured by the building. But it wasn’t hidden enough that he missed the broken left tail light.

Marty’s head pounded painfully at the uptick in his heart rate, but he was already walking towards the house as if his feet were on autopilot. Marty felt removed from his body. He wasn’t in control. He didn't want to knock on the faded, peeling door, but was forced to watch as his hand reached up anyway. He felt like a fucking sleepwalker.

Three sharp raps echoed across the empty lot.

Panic flooded through him. It was too early. He wasn’t even sure if this was Rust’s place. Even if it was and he didn’t mind being woken, Rust did  _ not _ want to see him. He’d made that perfectly clear the previous night.

The silence stretched out long enough that Marty finally let himself exhale in relief.

On the other side of the door, a lock scraped. Too late now.  _ Fuck _ . The door opened a crack, showing only a bloodshot blue eye at first, then a bit more, and there Rust was. He looked pale and wan. He was wearing a ratty tee and pajama bottoms. Marty’s heart clenched at the sight. He’d spent so many weeks looking exactly for this and now that he’d found it, he knew he wasn’t going to get the chance to talk or even apologise.

“Marty,” Rust mumbled, looking him up and down slowly. Marty couldn’t read anything from his blank face. At least his tone didn’t sound hostile. It didn’t sound surprised either. There was no emotion at all in it, and somehow, that was worse.

“You’re here,” Marty blurted, hating how breathless and surprised he sounded. It felt like a miracle that he’d found Rust, even given the unorthodox way it’d happened.

“Yup.” Rust quirked a brow. Marty coloured in embarrassment. He wished he could communicate how this felt; meaningful, momentous. “And so’re you.”

They stood there, the silence growing thick and uncomfortable between them. Marty could feel Rust’s eyes on him. For his part, he could only bear to look steadfastly at Rust’s shoulder. There was a small tear there that he focused on. He could see a mole on Rust’s pale skin through it.

“The fuck you doing here, Marty?” Rust asked, shattering through the awkwardness.

Marty didn’t answer- he  _ couldn’t  _ answer. How could he explain to a man whose middle name was Nihilism that this felt like fate? So he just shrugged instead. So much was contained in that simple gesture that Marty couldn’t even begin putting it into words.

Finally, Rust heaved a sigh and stepped back, opening the door fully. “If you’re determined to bother me, might as well come in and tell me what you want. You're interrupting a perfectly lovely Saturday.”

Rust walked away from him, leaving Marty to close the door behind him. The place was smaller than it appeared on the outside - barely big enough to be called a house. The front room was a combination living room and kitchen. There was faux wood paneling on the walls. Sheet lino covered half the floor; dirty shag carpet the other half. In the corner was a miniscule television with a giant, wire hanger antenna. The whole place smelled like cigarettes and mildew. It was a huge step down from Rust’s previous place and that was saying something. Fucking depressing, is what it was.

Next to the door was a line of shoes. Out of long-entrenched habit, Marty toed off his sneakers and left them neatly parallel next to a pair of Rust’s boots.

Rust disappeared through a door opposite the entrance. Through it, he saw the man throw himself down on a mattress resting on the floor. Marty walked to the doorway and leaned against the jamb. The room reminded him so acutely of Rust’s old place: the books stacked against the walls, the crucifix over the bed, and not much else.

Rust was holding a book above his head, eyes glued to the pages. He was certainly making it clear that Marty was intruding. Marty could do without the pantomime, but he guessed he deserved it.

Without looking, Rust drawled dryly, “So… to what do I owe this honour?”

“I didn’t know you lived here. I- I saw your truck and…”

“Figured you might. Should have pulled it around back.” Rust turned the page. “Well, live and learn…”

Marty narrowed his eyes at this. If Rust had thought it was possible, why  _ hadn’t  _ he moved the goddamn thing? He wasn’t sure what to say. “I’m… I wanted to see you.”

“Did it occur to you - even after brilliantly spotting my truck - that I might not want to see you?” Rust let his head loll towards Marty. Annoyance spiked through Marty, but he tamped it down. 

“Actually, yeah. It’s occurred to me a lot since-” Marty cut himself off. It didn’t need to be said but it was too late. “Fuck, Rust… I looked for you for  _ weeks _ . I-” 

He wanted to say _ I was worried about you _ . He was still worried about Rust.

“I know,” Rust said coldly, eyes hooded and unreadable. “Heard you were asking ‘round.”

“From who?” Marty’s mouth went dry. He tried not to let the words sting. When Rust refused to answer, eyes still indolently on Marty, he continued, talking around the lump in his throat. “So what changed? Last night?”

“Don’t read too much into it. Never thought you’d be here-” Rust’s face changed, eyes narrowing. Marty fought not to squirm under his cool scrutiny. “What the fuck were you doing here, anyway?”

Rust rested the book open on his chest. God, he was thin- too thin. Marty could see the jut of his hip bones and the sharpness of his clavicle. He realised he was staring but he couldn’t stop; not after last night. That body had been pressed up against him. Rust had wanted… 

“You really that desperate, Hart? That you’d come crawling back after I left you like that last night?” Marty hated the way Rust had always seemed able to see through him. “Half the guys in that bar would have blown you. Hell, Clancy seemed particularly sweet on you. Probably would have cuddled you after; made you breakfa-”

“Rust…” Marty hissed. He felt defeated. He deserved every bit of the abuse Rust was throwing at him, but it still hurt. “I didn’t want… I don’t want…  _ That _ .”

“You ever fuck a guy, Marty? You ever let a guy - or girl - fuck you real good?” Rust propped himself up on one elbow. The book slid into his lap. “Nah, not Martin Hart. Too  _ straight  _ for that kind of-”

Marty thought of the few drunken nights where he’d had a girl’s fingers in his ass - something he’d never had the nerve to ask Maggie for - and blushed. Rust stopped mid-sentence, mouth still open.

Rust licked his lips. Marty looked away. “ _ Shi-at _ . Seems I don’t know you as well as I thought.”

“No- I… I haven’t.” He couldn’t deny it without Rust knowing and he couldn’t admit to liking that-  _ loving _ that. He knew he had to be blushing brightly, so he just stuttered it out. “I know I’d like it. I just…”

He spread his hands, struck speechless with embarrassment. He made himself return Rust’s gaze. He didn’t know what he was waiting for, but he was definitely waiting for some sort of cue from Rust.

“You think I’m propositioning you, Hart?” Rust’s voice was like a blade.

Rust sat up and set his book aside on the floor, uncovering an obvious erection. Marty’s eyes skittered away then back. He didn’t know where to look - well, he knew exactly where to look; knew exactly where he  _ wanted  _ to look. He didn’t want to want this. That tightness low in his belly was back - not lust; not yet, but it was arousal - and this time he didn’t have the excuse of being drunk.

He locked eyes with Rust. They may not be drunk but it was like they were back in that damned bathroom, like not a moment had passed. Marty might as well still be bent over that sink.

“Last night…” Marty’s mouth had gone so dry, the words came out as a croak. God, maybe he  _ was _ still drunk. What the fuck was he saying? “I’d have let-”

Rust palmed himself through his pants. Marty’s dick certainly wasn’t  _ uninterested _ . He was passed being surprised by this revelation. Confused though; he was still very confused.

“If- if I’d asked?” Marty blurted in a rushed whisper. He found himself leaning away from the door.

Rust reclined, stroking himself through the thin material of his pajamas and considering Marty. “I was high. Who knows… probably. I really wanted to fuck you.”

That did it. Marty was suddenly hard; fast enough he felt faint. He didn’t miss the way Rust’s eyes flicked down to his groin. He smirked and then shifted up onto his knees slowly, like a predator.  _ Fuck _ , the way he moved was sexy.

_ When had Rust become  _ sexy  _ in his mind? _

“Ask me now.” Rust’s eyes were dark and hooded. And despite everything - Rust’s frailty, his too-short hair mussed from sleep, dark circles under his eyes - Marty wanted to touch him.

Marty looked at Rust - really  _ looked  _ at him for the first time in a long time - and what he saw didn’t inspire lust in him. It made him feel sadness, regret, and a tenderness so sore that he could barely acknowledge it. It wasn’t lust that made him want… it was something harder to pin down.

He shook his head but stepped away from the door, closer to the bed. Rust held a hand out towards Marty.

Marty took it.

And was roughly pulled forward onto the mattress. His knees sunk deep, shitty springs creaking underneath his weight. He nearly fell into Rust. He momentum carried him so that they came chest to chest. Rust’s breath was hot on his cheek, sudden and intimate. The sensation was…  _ interesting _ .

It had to be because he’d been thinking so hard on Rust for months - worry and guilt getting all tangled up in his mind. He still didn’t try to stop himself when he leaned in for a kiss, letting instinct lead him. It wasn’t desire.

Rust turned his head so that Marty’s lips grazed his cheek.

“Don’t make this something it’s not,” Rust whispered, even as his lips brushed against Marty’s jawline, his breath ghosting over skin. He was burning up; almost feverish. It was clear he hadn’t been taking care of himself. Marty reached for the hem of Rust’s shirt - he needed to see for himself the damage that had been done; needed to catalogue everything he needed to be sorry for  - but his hands were batted away.

“Turn around,” Rust demanded, voice broken and rough. It sent a shiver up Marty’s spine -  _ Fuck, okay. Yeah, he wanted this  _ \- even as he forced Marty away from him, turning him around and onto all fours.

It felt right, letting Rust have his way. For years Marty had put up a fight against Rust’s every move. Giving in was better. He was penitent and deserving of whatever Rust had planned

Rust’s reached around him and unbuttoned Marty’s jeans, knuckles grazing over his bulge.

“Now I see what all the fuss is about,” Rust chuckled darkly and unkindly. He yanked down Marty’s pants and underwear none too gently, just low enough to bare his ass and leaving his erection still trapped painfully.

Marty felt exposed - was about to tell Rust to stop - when Rust ran a palm under his shirt and up his spine. His touch was gentle but firm, grounding Marty.

“Okay?” Rust asked, tone entirely different; casual, as if they were making small talk and not doing…  _ this _ .

All Marty could do was nod. His voice had abandoned him. There was the sound of rustling as Rust searched through the sheets, then he stretched over Marty towards something on the ground beside the bed. His cock grazed against Marty’s thigh, only the threadbare cloth of his pants separating them.

“Fuuuuck…” Marty breathed. Never in a million years would he have believed-

Rust righted himself. Marty caught glimpse of the condom between his fingers. The reality of what was happening hit Marty, but instead of sobering him like it should have, heat settled low in his stomach. Behind him, there was rustling. Marty wanted to look, but forced himself to stay as he was, eyes focused on the dirty bedding.

He was afraid that if he looked, he’d back out. His own uncertainty terrified him, but his recklessness - that same giddy, defiant, self-destructive freefall he’d been in for months now - urged him on. He was entirely, illogically committed to this course.

There was the soft rubbery sound of a condom being rolled on, the sharp click of plastic, and then the cold slick of lubed fingers between his ass cheeks. He flinched away at the unexpected temperature; the shock of realisation that those were  _ Rust Cohle’s _ fingers. A small, surprised noise escaped his throat as Rust rubbed a firm, quick circle with his thumb over his asshole.

Then the touch was gone, Rust’s hands moving to spread Marty. He wanted to squirm. He could feel Rust’s gaze like a physical thing; uncomfortably vulnerable. His cock twitched at the thought of Rust  _ looking _ at him like this. He was both mortified and terribly turned-on.

Rust shifted closer, knees nudging Marty’s thighs apart. Marty surprised himself by complying without complaint. He should protest. He normally would. What a laugh. Normally, Marty would never find himself in any situation remotely like this.

Rust’s leaned forward and dragged the lubed head of his dick over Marty’s hole. A moan tried escaping Marty, turning into a strangled, desperate sound. He thought about the way Rust had held him down at the bar. He imagined if they’d done this in the bathroom… 

“Marty…” Rust said huskily, nudging; teasing. “Tell me the truth. Did you touch yourself thinking about this?”

Marty dropped his head and closed his eyes, too embarrassed to answer. Was it not was enough that Rust had him on all fours, nearly panting for it? He wasn’t going to admit that he’d practically read Marty’s mind. Rust repeated his earlier gesture, stroking up Marty’s spine. His hand pressed between Marty’s shoulder blades.

And then he stopped. It was more than Marty could handle. He tried moving back. Rust was positioned just right, but Rust retreated. He pressed down hard on Marty’s back, driving his face into the bed.

“If you want it so bad, answer.” Rust’s voice was demanding and clipped.

“Yes,” Marty hissed resentfully. 

_ Fuck you _ , he thought.  _ Fuck you, you asshole. _

He hated Rust for the inexplicable hold he had over him; hated him for how easily he’d walked away from Marty, leaving Marty to stew in self-loathing.

“Yes,” he repeated. “I barely made it inside before jerking off. Now, fuck m-”

Rust’s free hand gripped Marty’s hip and the pressure was suddenly unbearable;  _ painful _ . Marty grunted and turned his head into the sheets. He needed to relax, but Christ! Rust was more than a few fingers. Marty breathed in- out- in… And still the pressure built and stretched. Rust was never going to fit.

And then Rust’s hips settled against his ass.

This was nothing like what he’d thought it’d be like, given his limited experience. It  _ hurt _ . Marty ground his forehead against the mattress and clenched his hands in the sheets. It struck him that they smelled like Rust - Lucky Strikes and stale beer and sweat. He remembered this smell; he’d never forget this smell. He inhaled deeply. For some reason, it relaxed him a bit.

Rust curved over Marty and nosed the collar of his shirt aside. Marty tilted his head, giving Rust access. He was rewarded by Rust biting him, hard, on the shoulder.

“Fuck!” Marty gasped, then several things happened at once: Rust pulled at his hips, sinking fractionally further into him; Rust stopped pushing him down, his hand slipping around and into Marty’s jeans to palm his limp cock; and he licked carefully over the place he’d bitten. It was almost tender - Rust’s mouth on his skin, his hand stroking him gently. Marty felt held.

The juxtaposition - the sudden shift from rough to soft - had his head spinning.

“Hmmm, good…” Marty muttered, feeling the first tendrils of arousal coming back.

“Gonna fuck ya, get this outta our systems-” Rust’s grip on his hip was hard enough to bruise, but the way he was breathing hard against Marty’s neck more than made up for it. It also helped distract from the pain as Rust canted his hips in a shallow thrust. “Then I never wanna hear from ya again.”

Marty was barely listening, but he registered what Rust was saying enough to feel a twinge of displeasure. But then Rust pulled out and thrust properly - once, slowly; drawing a whine out of Marty - until he was flush against him again. Marty’s wires were crossed, pain and pleasure sending pops of skin shivering sensation to Marty’s brainstem.

“ _ Holyshit _ ,” Marty mumbled, sagging even furthur into the mattress and groaning. Rust followed him, hips grinding.

“Fuck- that… that hurts,” Marty said, even as he strained back and arched to meet Rust.

“Does it?” Rust asked. He clumsily shoved at Marty’s jeans, freeing his hard-on. Then he stroked Marty from base to head in a single, lingering motion. He didn’t remember getting hard again. “Coulda fooled me. But I’ll give you a minute.”

Rust’s hands gentled; one hand continued to jerk him off slowly, the other wandered - up Marty’s side to his neck, into his hair. The movement rucked Marty’s shirt up more. Rust’s hands never stopped moving. It was almost hypnotic. Marty felt detached from his body; almost floaty. He sighed and closed his eyes.

He still felt impossibly full, but the stretch was less painful now and more… Well, he wasn’t sure what it was but it wasn’t enough. The stillness was wrong. The angle was wrong. Marty pushed himself up a bit and back against Rust. He smirked at the huff of breath that Rust let out, but he lost the benefit of surprise after a mere moment. Rust rolled his hips smoothly into Marty and  _ oh!-  _ He was horrified by the sound that came out of him.

Rust had grazed that spot inside him that he remembered from those sloppy, whiskey-hazed blowjobs from his younger days; adventurous girlfriends and a youthful lack of shame- but this…  _ this _ …

This time, when Rust thrust, Marty rocked back to meet him. It still stung, was still more than his brain could process, but this time the angle was different, the movement deliberate. Marty’s erection was so hard it was nearly painful. He reached for Rust’s hand, losing his balance and having to prop himself awkwardly with his shoulder. He pulled Rust’s hand away. He didn’t need it.

“Fuck me,” he growled, getting his arm back under himself. Rust didn’t say anything but snapped his hips harder into Marty. “ _ Ohjesuschrist _ …”

Marty slid his hands further up the bed for leverage and Rust settled into a hard, fast rhythm. Each time Rust bottomed out into him, sparks of pleasure built up at the base of his spine, coalescing into something massive and unlike anything Marty had ever felt.

“Shit… Marty- I’m-” Rust grunted. “M’close.”

“Yeah… I think…” Marty wasn’t sure but he felt on the cusp of  _ something _ . He wished he hadn’t stopped Rust from touching him. He needed…  _ something.  _ He made a frustrated noise.

Then Rust stopped, pulled almost completely out of Marty.

“Fuckfuck _ fuck _ . Rust, you asshole. Don’t stop-” Marty moved desperately - writhed was the only word for what he did - trying to grind back onto Rust’s cock. Rust held him in place, but that only made Marty more desperate.

Marty ran his fingers up Marty’s spine again and wrapped his hand around the back on his neck. His thumb stroked behind Marty’s ear. There was a heartstopping second where Rust placed a kiss to the top of his spine. Marty’s breath caught in his throat on something unnamable.

“Please…” he begged. “Rust, please… touch me.”

Rust did, sliding his hand on Marty’s neck down and around to circle around him, while simultaneously pushing smoothly back into him. The hand bruising Marty’s hip wrapped around his chest, pulling them together, and that was enough to unravel Marty. Marty momentarily wished there was nothing between them, but then in just a handful of thrusts - Rust’s hand calloused and warm around his cock - Marty came apart in a roaring whiteout of pleasure.

The next thing he was aware of, he was collapsed face-first on Rust’s bed, ass in the air. Rust was laying beside him, panting. His arms and legs didn’t want to cooperate, so he flopped onto his side in an undignified manner, barely missing the mess he’d made on Rust’s sheets. If he was honest with himself, dignity had left the building a long time ago.

But still, compared to Rust, Marty felt an utter lack of composure. He still didn’t have the strength to even cover himself. Rust on the other hand, had already tugged his pajamas back into place, barely looking worse for wear. Marty felt irrevocably changed and here Rust had the gall to look almost bored. 

Rust rolled and shook a cigarette out of a pack. He lit up and Marty watched the smoke trail lazily towards the ceiling.

“I’d have fucked you- tried to-” Rust said out of nowhere, barely a whisper. It had the air of a confession. “Back in ninety-five, had I known.”

Marty heaved himself onto his back so he didn’t have to look at Rust’s profile. He wiggled his pants up, giving himself time and a little composure. His ass smarted with the movement. His underwear stuck to him strangely.

He thought back to the months they’d lived together. It had been comfortable - antagonistic, like they alway had been - but it had worked in a strange way. He could clearly picture Rust bending him over the kitchen counter or pressing him against one of his depressingly bare walls or maybe them fucking on his bed in the living room…

God, their lives would have been so different.

The image of Rust kissing him in the morning flashed through his mind out of nowhere.  _ Fuck. _

“I didn’t know…” He wasn’t sure what to say. Part of him wanted to hear what Rust had to say, but another, larger part didn’t want to know. What use was it, dwelling on the past?

“At least I got this once,” Rust said thoughtfully. He rolled again and stubbed his cigarette out. He stayed facing away from Marty, tucking a hand under his head. “I’m gonna nap. You can stay or not.”

“Yeah… okay. I’ll leave-” Marty yawned and rolled towards the other side of the bed. “-when we wake up.”

\---

When Marty woke, he had a moment of panic and disorientation before memory caught up with him. He groaned and rolled onto his back. He was alone in the bed. It didn’t surprise him and in a way, it was a relief. No Rust meant no having to address what had happened. Marty’s body was enough of a reminder.

He sat up and every part of him screamed, but it was the tackiness on his ass and the back of his thighs that had him covering his face. It wasn’t shame that he felt, it was… Well, it wasn’t regret and that was fucked up, in his opinion.

He gingerly got to his feet and shuffled out to the living room. It was dark outside - the bar’s parking lot was starting to fill up again. He’d ended up sleeping the day away anyway.

And he’d gotten laid.

Holy shit, had he gotten laid.

He was going to enjoy that for as long as possible before he inevitably had to actually  _ think _ about it.

He slipped on his shoes and headed out to his car. He left the door unlocked behind him out of necessity. Rust’s truck wasn’t parked next to the house like before and for a brief moment, Marty considered letting himself back inside to leave him a note.

But what would he write? Rust already had his number and he’d made it perfectly clear what he wanted from Marty. Couldn’t get much clearer than  _ never want to hear from you again _ .

It was for the best.

In the car, Marty turned on the radio and spaced out on the way home. He was still exhausted; couldn’t wait to get home, shower, and pass out until he had to get on with his life tomorrow. He almost wished tomorrow was Monday. He tried to ignore how the world felt as though it had shifted.

He walked into his dark apartment and tossed his keys onto the kitchen bar. He left the lights off and made his way towards the bathroom, shucking his clothes off along the way and throwing them in the general direction of his hamper.

In the bathroom, he flipped on the light and caught sight of himself in the mirror. The reflection was shocking. There were rising purple bruises on his hips to match the marks around his right wrist. He craned his head and sure enough, there was a clear set of teeth marks on the muscle connecting shoulder and neck - high enough that he wasn’t sure his suits would cover it.

“Fucking asshole,” he groused, pressing fingers against it. It stung and he was hit with a belated surprise that Rust had bit him. He pressed harder and his cock took notice. “Fucking  _ asshole _ .”

He turned the light back off. He couldn’t face this right now; knew if he didn’t stop himself, he would turn around and look at the damage on his back and that- That wouldn’t be productive to his forgetting.

He stepped into the shower and turned the water on as hot as he could stand. It pelted down onto him in a satisfyingly painful way that distracted him as he cleaned himself, but when he ran the soap over the remains of the lube on his ass and thighs, even the water wasn’t enough to keep him from thinking about it. He sat aside the soap and tentatively touched himself -  _ fuck _ , he was sore. His asshole was tender so he was forced to gentle his fingers, running them in a circular motion.  _ Just like Rust had... _ His cock twitched to life. He made a defeated moan and leaned his head against the cool tile, taking himself in hand.

So much for not thinking about it.

At first, all he did was stroke himself with one hand and make slow, careful circles with the first two fingers of his other. He was a little scared to do much more than touch. He’d never done this on his own, not even on his drunkest nights. He let it happen with ex girlfriends because they seemed into it, but he… he had just been humouring them. Sure, it felt good, but he didn’t need-

Marty gritted his teeth and pressed harder with his middle finger - thinking the principle was much like fingering a girl; you used your strongest finger. He was shocked at how quickly it slipped inside.

“ _ Shiiit… _ ” he moaned. There was still lube inside him, pushed there by Rust. It sent a bolt of arousal shooting down his spine. After that, it was a sprint to the finish line. 

The angle was all wrong. He had to awkwardly twist his torso to get the depth he wanted-  _ needed _ . Because that’s what this was: a desperate compulsion. He worked a second finger into himself, whining at the stretch, relishing the sharpness of it. It was all a reminder of what he’d done; what Rust had done to him.

He thought about Rust’s hand on his hip, the way he’d wrapped an arm around Marty, the single press of his lips against Marty’s neck- He came quick and hard enough that his legs threatened to give out from under him.

Marty wasted no time rinsing the evidence of his weakness from the wall and scrubbing his hands. He was glad it was dark because while he could wash the come and lube down the drain, he couldn’t lather the bruises from his skin.

After the shower, after he’d pulled on boxers and a tee, he laid in bed and worried that even after the marks had faded, their effect would be indelible.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from The Moth by Manchester Orchestra.


	3. A Feeling I Can't Domesticate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty always did like playing with fire. He wouldn't mind being burnt by Rust.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Rough, consensual sex.
> 
> Funnily enough, this whole fic began with a one-shot scene of Rust roughly fucking Marty in a bathroom. It ended up cannibalised; bits of it finding their ways into in chapters 1&3.

####  **Sunday-Saturday**

Outwardly, Marty picked up his life where he’d left it, but inwardly, he felt like it he'd obviously changed. He knew it was a guilty conscious. He’d seen it with suspects time and again; how they squirmed under the weight of discovery. But the only one judging Marty was himself- and well, maybe Rust. But Rust wasn’t a variable anymore. That tie was severed once and for all.

Marty had gotten his closure. Rust was alive and well- _relatively_ well. Marty had done his due diligence and could move on.

Except that he couldn’t.

Every time he shifted in his desk chair and felt a twinge; every time his skin itched as it healed; every time he found his thoughts wandering back to that bar and that house and that mattress… Each time, he unconsciously pressed fingers into the bruises around his wrist or on his hips, or touched the fading bite under his collar.

No, he couldn’t move on when his mind and body kept pulling him back into the past.

But it was fine. Marty had dealt with this kind of shit before. He was good at compartmentalising. He had years of practice. He put Rust in a box in his mind - labelled and shut tight and filed away in a dusty corner. He’d done it; he’d hit rock bottom. Now it was time to get on with his life, no matter how hard the climb might seem.

He didn’t _want_ to think about it. Marty _really_ didn’t want to think about it.

He didn’t want to think about Rust or the fact that apparently he was having some sort of mid-life sexuality crisis.

So he didn’t.

That didn’t stop him from sinking lubed fingers into himself every damn night before falling into a fitful sleep that was plagued by dreams of Rust: Rust’s hands, Rust’s smell, Rust’s voice mocking him as he fucked him senseless.

At this rate, Marty was going to develop carpal tunnel and it would be Rust-goddamn-Cohle’s fault.

###  **Week Two**

####  **Sunday**

In the end, he lasted a week.

The memory of being bent over by Rust had haunted him every night until he found himself sitting in his car in front of that same damn bar as the sun set, drumming his fingers restlessly on the steering wheel. He shouldn’t be here. He should turn back on the ignition and leave. He had to work in the morning. He definitely didn’t need to be pissing off someone that didn’t want Marty in his life.

He knew exactly what he _should_ do, but what he did was step out of his car. He nervously touched his hair, straightened his shirt, and checked his pockets to make sure everything was in place.

He knew exactly the shit he was probably getting himself into. Marty _fucking_ Hart, forging new depths of rock bottom.

He squared his shoulders and walked into the bar. He’d driven all this way. He might as well have a drink. So that’s what he did. The place was just as busy as last time and Marty was glad for the anonymity that the crowd allowed. He sat himself down at the bar. Clancy was on duty.

Marty gave him a flirty, crooked smile. “Remember me?”

“Whiskey, beer chaser, right?” Clancy asked even as he poured Marty a generous glass and popped the cap on a Budweiser. He slid the drinks to Marty and paused. “Can’t believe you disappeared on me.”

Marty took a swig, giving the boy a noncommittal shrug. What could he say? “Sorry ‘bout that…”

“It true that you got off with Spence?” For a moment, Marty was lost and then he remembered: Rust’s middle name was Spencer. His stomach plummeted. He froze with the bottle halfway lowered. “Cause no offense, but… him? Sure, he’s good looking but he’s bad news-”

Marty shook his head. “God, no. Jesus. No. We just… know each other.”

“You know Spence?” Clancy’s eyebrows shot up, probably sensing gossip. “No one knows _anything_ about him. Well, except Laughlin but he’s monosyllabic, at best.”

“Just…” He gestured vaguely with his beer. “Another lifetime. You know?”

God, that made it sound like they’d dated. Clancy smiled slowly. Marty could almost see the kid drawing the same conclusion.

“Used to work together,” he added lamely, knowing nothing but his silence would help now. He had no idea what Rust would be comfortable with Clancy knowing. Hell, he’d probably let on too much.

“So… Does that mean you’re available?” The bartender’s smile turned sly. “I get off at one, if you…”

The way he trailed off made it clear what he meant, while still being appealingly shy. Normally, Marty would gobble this kind of flirtation up. Hell, he kind of wanted to take him up on the offer. He could steer into the skid, really take control of this crisis. God knew, the kid was hot. Yeah, he could…

If it wasn’t for Rust.

As if his thought had summoned the man, Marty felt the back of his neck itch, and he knew that if he were to look, Rust would be there. He ignored the instinct. His stomach had already flipped itself over with nerves. He didn’t think he could handle the inevitable confrontation yet.. _Shit_. Why the fuck had he thought this was a good idea? He forced himself to smile at Clancy.

“Only got time for a drink before heading home,” he said apologetically, lifting his beer. “Maybe another time.”

Clancy was already moving away from him. The spark had disappeared from his grin. “Yeah, sure.”

It took an act of iron will for Marty to ignore Rust. Every instinct he had was telling him to turn around; to find those blue eyes in the crowd. It was the same instinct that kept animals of prey alive.

Except Marty wasn’t being hunted, even though Rust _was_ a hunter. Marty was luring him. It was a game. Thinking about it that way let him relax marginally. He shot back the whiskey; took his time with the rest of the beer.

When Clancy sidled back over and asked if he wanted another round, Marty shook his head. He paid - making sure to tip well - and then made his way slowly to the bathroom. There were a few other men in there, so he took a leak and lingered over washing his hands. He was waiting; wasting time.

He was pretty sure Rust would follow, even just to tell him off. Marty was intruding on his territory, after all; flouting his boundaries.

Marty looked at himself in the mirror above the sink. He looked old. It surprised him every time he caught sight of himself nowadays. He didn’t _feel_ half as old as he looked, but he definitely felt sadder. He looked like a man with nothing left to lose and maybe that’s why he was doing this.

He was touching the faded mark on his neck when the last stranger finished drying his hands beside him - checking him out in a quick glance - and then left. For a moment, Marty was alone. The commotion from the bar was muted. It felt a world away.

He could just leave; turn around and slip out the back. He looked into the pale, familiar eyes of his reflection and struggled to recognise himself.

Then the door was pushed open, bringing in the noise of the world and Rust Cohle. Their eyes met in the mirror. Marty tugged up the collar of his shirt, embarrassed even though Rust had been the one to put the bruise there.

Rust paused. He didn’t look angry - Marty had expected anger - and he didn’t look high either. He looked surprisingly clear-eyed. Marty couldn’t read the expression on Rust’s face and he didn’t have time to make sense of it before Rust was moving again.

In two steps, he was on Marty, dragging him away from the sinks and toward the handicapped stall. Every line Marty had rehearsed in the car fled his mind..

“Never could fuckin’ listen,” Rust spat in frustration.

He spun Marty and pushed him face-first against the wall. Marty barely reacted in time to bring his hands up to brace himself. A split second of hesitation and he would have brained himself on the drywall.

“Jesus, Rust-”

“Shut the fuck up and don’t move.” There was the sound of the latch sliding into place behind him. Rust’s words and the metallic click of imagined privacy sent a thrill through Marty. He made to push away from the grimy, graffitied wall, but Rust pressed his chest against Marty’s back.

“What is the goddamn point of your antagonism, huh? What part of _I don’t want to see you again_ didn’t you understand?” Rust’s voice was gruff and low and threatening. “What is it? You looking for a quick fuck? Last I knew, you had ‘em lining up.”

“It’s not-” Marty started to say.

“Shut- the- fuck- up.” Rust raised his voice. His hands found Marty’s hips, fingers aligning with the earlier bruises like magnets. “Women finally figure out you’re not worth the time? Is that it? You desperate?”

His hands left Marty’s hips, deft fingers finding his belt buckle. Christ- It wasn’t what he’d been jerking off to all week, but it was just as good- better…

“Is this you slumming it, Hart?” Rust had gotten his belt undone and hadn’t even bothered with unbuttoning the jeans; just shoved a hand roughly under the waistband to circle his long, talented fingers around Marty's cock. Marty’s eyes rolled back, his head lolling onto Rust’s shoulder.

Fuck, yes. This was so much better than anything he could imagine.

Behind them, there was the sound of the bathroom door opening and the happy, laughing voices of two men entered. It shattered their illusion of privacy. Rust’s free hand snapped up and clamped over Marty’s mouth hard enough to hurt. Rust froze.

Marty squirmed, wanting Rust to continue, wanting to feel if Rust was as hard as he was - he didn’t care if the men heard - but Rust tightened his hold on Marty. There was no way the men were oblivious to the fact that someone was in the stall. Hell, it was probably obvious that there were two people.

“I _work_ here,” he whispered directly into Marty’s ear. Marty nodded as much as the hold on him would allow, indicating that he understood.

It hit him out of nowhere that he wasn’t just fucking up his own shit. Rust had a whole life Marty knew next to nothing about. He moved one of his hands from the wall and loosely gripped Rust’s wrist. He squeezed lightly.

 _Okay_ , it was meant to say. It meant that he wouldn’t take Rust down with him in his freefall.

Rust seemed to understand because he slipped his hand from Marty’s face, grabbing ahold of Marty’s hand, flattening it against the wall again. His own hand covered Marty’s. Rust’s strong, slender fingers slotted between Marty’s thicker ones.

“Shhh…” He whispered, more breath than sound against Marty’s skin. Rust squeezed Marty’s cock, then finally moved - a slow, deliberate stroke. Marty swallowed the noise he wanted to make. He was rewarded with a steady, maddening pace.

He arched against Rust, pushing his ass back into the other man’s groin.

“Worried I’m not enjoying myself?” Rust speaking directly into his ear like this was strangely intimate.

Marty was, actually, worried. He never could get into sex if his partner wasn’t also having fun. In answer, he ground back on Rust’s cock. It certainly seemed like Rust was having fun. He was hard and met Marty with a thrust of his own.

“Patience,” Rust hissed, swiping his thumb over the head of Marty’s erection. Marty sagged, knees going weak. He didn’t know if Rust was just damn good at this or if he knew, somehow, exactly how Marty liked to be touched.

Rust held him up, leaning his chest harder against Marty’s back. He could feel the whole of Rust’s body now. As thin as Rust had grown over the last six months, he was still whipcord strong. Marty liked it. He liked all of this.

The restraint and restriction made it somehow more _everything_.  He wasn’t sure what it was - the risk of getting caught, the shame of giving into what he wanted, the powerlessness he felt pinned against the wall - but he was positive that he could come just from this; Rust’s cramped movements and his hot breath on the side of Marty’s neck.

The bathroom door opened again and the voices disappeared, growing distant and cutting off entirely when the door clicked shut. Marty expected a flurry of movement from Rust; them picking up where they’d left off before they’d been interrupted.

But Rust’s hand released him, fingers grazing tantalising along Marty’s length. He was slow but not teasing; careful and deliberate. He unbuttoned Marty’s jeans one-handed, then guided the zipper down, tooth by tooth. The pressure against Marty’s cock was exquisite torture and he whined.

“Needy thing, aren’t ya?” Rust chuckled, nipping at Marty’s jawline. It was unexpected and playful and fuck, Marty loved that.

“You gonna tease me or fuck me?” he tried bantering back, but his voice sounded wrecked.

Rust shoved down Marty’s underwear and freed his cock- _finally_. Marty sighed at the first full stroke.

“Raw?”

Marty shook his head. “Front pocket. On the left.”

Rust released him, wormed his hand into the pocket, and fished out the packet of lube and condom Marty had put there before leaving his apartment. He leaned away from Marty and instinctively, Marty followed, putting some space between him and the wall. He still lost contact with Rust’s body.

“Christ, Marty…” Rust huffed in frustrated disbelief.

Marty smiled to himself, glad he’d come prepared. Rust’s hand left his and trailed along Marty’s arm. He paused at Marty’s neck and squeezed. Marty let his head fall between his arms. He could see his cock - hard and red and _ready._

“Keep your hands on the wall.” Rust tucked the lube and condom into Marty’s back pocket, then hooked his thumbs in the waistband of both jeans and underwear. Marty chuckled at the small practicality. Rust worked the clothes down over Marty’s ass. They bunched tight at the top of Marty’s thighs, but it’d do. Anything would do as long as it got Rust to fuck him again.

Rust grazed a palm over Marty’s ass, fingers tracing the crease at the thigh, then up his ass crack. His touch was so light, it nearly tickled. Marty squirmed and blushed. He wasn’t sure what Rust meant by doing this - it was nearly innocent - but it had him flushed and embarrassed. He didn’t deserve such gentleness.

“Rust…” he begged.

“Yeah, baby. Okay,” Rust whispered. Something strange and warm bloomed in Marty’s chest at Rust’s tone. Rust plucked the lube and condom from Marty’s jeans. There was the crinkle of foil, then Rust’s slick fingers on his hole. Marty gasped and closed his eyes.

He’d expected it like last time; Rust pushing into him without preamble. Instead, Rust slipped a single finger into him, smooth and sweet.

“Christ…” Marty sighed, pushing back onto that finger. It was like when he was alone in the shower but better. Rust pulled out and added another finger, twisting as he slid them back into Marty. _God, so much better._ A guttural groan was forced out of him when Rust crooked them _just right_.

“We do this here, you gotta be quiet.” Marty nodded immediately. Rust leaned close and crooned, “Good. Now… ask me.”

Heat spread under Marty’s skin, but he was past shame; past pride or doubt or anything that would keep him from having this. “Fuck me. God, please. Rust… I need- I want-”

Rust sucked in a breath and pumped his fingers into Marty, fucking him fast and rough, then gone. He fumbled behind Marty for a few brief moments - too long - then was back, cock pressing between Marty’s ass cheeks. Rust thrust between them, arms wrapping around Marty. His hand, sticky with lube tucked up under Marty’s shirt and spread possessively on Marty’s lower belly. His other arm angled across his chest.

Rust rocked his hips back until the head of his cock grazed over Marty’s hole. Then he pushed in. It was easier than last time. Marty balled his fists against the wall and arched his back until Rust bottomed out. It wasn’t just _better_ , it was the best thing Marty had ever felt.

“You been fingering yourself, Marty?” Rust panted, hot and humid against Marty’s skin. He pulled out slowly, then thrust forward fast. Marty’s elbows buckled and he pressed his mouth against his fist. “You’ve been touching yourself when you think about me?”

_Yes. Yes, Rust. Every single fucking day. Sometimes more than once._

He nodded, instead. He couldn’t trust his voice. Rust stopped, body flush against Marty’s back. Again, he wished there was less between them. He wanted to feel Rust’s skin against his own.

“You know we can’t do this again,” Rust whispered. His voice was flat and emotionless. “Right?”

Marty hadn’t even thought about a next time, he’d been so focused on this - getting the thing he’d been fantasizing about. But who was he kidding? He’d want this again. He wanted to gorge himself on this.

“Why?” he wheezed.

Rust rested his head between Marty’s shoulders.

“Jesus, Marty. Where do I even start?” He sounded so disappointed and suddenly, Marty didn’t want him to answer. He already knew he was a mess. He didn’t need Rust to expound on that. He understood. Didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. He could see Rust was trying to carve himself a new life; one without Marty. Marty needed to respect that.

“I don’t want-” _What?_ What was he trying to say? Rust nuzzled behind his ear. How was he supposed to think when Rust was doing that; when he was still balls-deep inside Marty? So maybe he couldn’t have _this_ but he’d just found Rust. Rust ground his hips in a slow circle and Marty sucked in a breath. “Don’t disappear on me again.”

Rust sighed. Marty wasn’t sure what that sigh meant but he knew it didn’t bode well for his hopes.

“Rust, please…” _You were my partner,_ he wanted to say. _Shit like that doesn’t just disappear, does it?_

 _Where the fuck did this come from, Rust?_ He wanted to ask.

“Shut up, Marty,” Rust said softly. The hand on Marty’s chest slid up to curl around Marty’s throat. It wasn’t tight; more of a caress than anything. Marty arched his head back to give him access. He’d trusted Rust with his life for seven years and despite the shit they’d done to each other, he trusted him still. He didn’t care _what_ Rust did to him as long as he got this. “God dammit…”

Rust moved, rocking smooth and deep. It was _perfect_. Marty put a hand over his own mouth and tried to focus on breathing as Rust fucked him. The fingers around his neck twitched but stayed gentle. Marty swallowed the noises he wanted to make and felt his adam’s apple bob against Rust’s palm.

Marty had that floaty, out of body feeling again. He went limp in Rust’s arms, sandwiched between Rust’s chest and the filthy wall. Marty was aware of his arousal, he knew he was close, but for the first time in his life, he wasn’t in a rush to get there. He didn’t want this to be over.

He turned his head on Rust’s shoulder and forced his eyes open. He caught Rust’s gaze - the man looked so damn serious - and smiled lazily at him. Something flickered across his face.

“God _dammit…_ ”Rust slid his hand, tacky with lube, around Marty’s cock again. Marty slammed back into his body; brain reconnecting with his nerves. Rust’s touch was like completing a circuit.

“ _Shit. Fuck,_ ” he groaned and came hard, pressing his forehead against Rust’s temple. He wanted to stay present this time. He needed to know what it felt like when Rust-

“Marty…” Rust moaned, hands tightening around his throat and still hard cock. He was fucked out and oversensitive, and because of that he could _feel_ Rust come inside him. It was shocking... confusing… _addictive._

They stayed like that, locked together. Rust’s breath brushed against Marty’s lips. Marty licked them. It wouldn’t take much. Mere inches separated their mouths. He wondered what it’d be like to kiss Rust.

Then Rust stepped back from him all at once. Marty stumbled. He had to reach out and steady himself against the wall, leaning hard against it with a forearm. With his other hand, he clutched at his pants. He made a half-hearted attempt to pull them up, but his legs were threatening to give out on him. He was a fucking mess and christ, he’d come all over the wall - not that it made much difference; place was filthy.

His brain wasn’t working enough to figure out what to do, so he closed his eyes and stayed there. Maybe Rust would leave him like this and Marty wouldn’t have to watch him walk away for a final time. Because as much as Marty wanted to keep Rust in his life, he wouldn't come back here. He wouldn't let his dick do his thinking for him, not where Rust was concerned.

Rust touched his shoulder, surprising Marty, and turned him around. Once again, Rust was already put back together. Regret nagged at him. Marty wanted to see him as undone as Marty felt. He’d never get to see that. He resented Rust a little for being so unaffected by this.

Rust batted Marty’s hand away. He had a wad of toilet paper and he used it to clean Marty up. Then he carefully tucked Marty’s cock back into his underwear, tugged his pants up, and methodically set him straight. It was almost clinical. A huge gulf had opened up between them. Marty thoughtlessly reached out and cupped the side of Rust’s neck. Rust shrugged him off and pivoted. He threw the tissue into the toilet.

“Don’t do that.” Rust unlatched the stall, but paused before he pushed it open. “Gonna step out back for a smoke. You can… join me, if you’d like.”

It was a paltry offer but Marty grabbed ahold of it like a drowning man.

“Yeah, gimme a second.” Rust gave a single, sharp nod and hummed in acknowledgement. Then he was gone.

Marty took a moment to gather himself. He locked the stall door again. He felt empty and unsteady. Reaching for more paper, he noticed his hands were shaking. He tried focusing on cleaning the wall as best he could but smearing the evidence of what had just happened - _again_ \- just worsened the shaking.

He sat down hard on the toilet seat. What the fuck was he doing? What fucking excuse did he have this time? He wasn’t drunk; hadn’t been caught in the moment. He’d _planned_ this. He could write it off as horniness but he knew that wasn't it, or at least not all of it.

He was so very fucked up.

Marty looked down at his hands, hanging between his knees. They trembled. He felt like he might be sick- no, not sick, but he felt strange. He didn’t feel like himself.

It took him longer than it should have to realise he was crying. He touched his damp cheeks and laughed. This was ridiculous. What the fuck did he have to cry over? He’d burned his whole life to the ground, sure, but he'd just had some of the best sex of his life.

Yeah, it was with a man and yeah, that man happened to be the former partner that had fucked his former wife but... He scrubbed his shirtsleeve over his face and laughed harder.

“Get the fuck up, Hart,” he berated himself.

He stood, still feeling off-kilter, and made his way down the hall to the back exit. He pushed open the door and stood there. Rust was sitting in front of his place on a lawn chair. The porch light was on behind him, leaving him in silhouette. It was like a still from a movie except for the cigarette smoke that trailed upward.

There was something about the sight that grounded Marty and drew him at the same time. He walked over to Rust. The man squinted up at him, smoke stinging his eyes. He gestured towards another lawn chair - folded and leaning against the side of the house.

“Make yourself at home.”Marty grabbed the chair and was half-way through opening it when he paused.  A thought occurred to him: Rust hadn't set it out because he hadn't been sure Marty was coming. Or perhaps because he wanted to be alone.

“You sure you want me here? I can leave, if you want.”

Rust rolled his eyes.

“Shit, Marty. If I didn’t want you here, I’d have said so. You caught me in a good mood.” He talked around the cigarette held between his teeth. “‘Sides, never much cared what I wanted anyway.”

Marty angled the chair next to Rust’s and sat down carefully. He wasn’t sore this time, but he ached in a good way. He knew he'd be feeling this for days.

Rust was right. He’d been a selfish asshole towards Rust for most of their partnership. Rust reached behind his chair and dragged a red cooler between them. He nudged it with his foot in offering. Marty flipped open the lid and pulled out two longnecks. He popped the the caps off and handed one over to Rust.

“Suppose I’m trying something new,” he muttered before taking a swig. When he swallowed and met Rust’s eye, the man was giving him an amused look. Marty realised exactly what he’d just said. “Oh, shut the fuck up, man. You know what I mean.”

They laughed. It was good, uncoiling something toxic and brittle inside Marty.

“I mean… with us. I don’t want to be- to be like I was with you.” After all his months of preparation - he’d rehearsed this apology a thousand times since finding Rust’s house empty - and he was garbling his words. His thoughts were a muddled mess. The only thing he was certain about anymore was that he didn’t want to lose this. He picked at the label on his beer. “I don’t want to be like I was, period.”

“You’re making quite the assumption that I want to see you again,” Rust drawled, looking away from Marty.

“Do you?” Marty asked softly.

“I’ll let you have your say. Then we’ll see.” His answer was distant and dry. He raised one shoulder in a stiff sort of shrug.

“Fuck, Rust- this is… I didn’t realise. _Fuck_. What I’m trying to say is I’m sorry.” He glanced at Rust, who was staring at him levely with dead eyes. “I’m so… so fucking sorry.”

Rust continued looking at him and all of Marty’s words dried up. The silence stretched between them until holding Rust’s gaze became uncomfortable.

“That all?” Rust asked, leaning back in his chair and raising his beer to his lips. Marty could tell it wasn’t enough; his being sorry. Saying two words would never be enough for Rust.

“Well, I had a whole speech prepared but…” He trailed off. _But it got fucked right out of my head_ , was what he’d almost said. “You know I’m not good with words. Not like you.”

Rust hummed, looking out into the night. Marty studied his profile. Even after all these years working together, the man was nearly impossible to read.

“What can I do to show you that I’m different? That I regret all those shitty things I did and said? Can I-”

“Marty,” Rust said sharply and Marty stopped himself, meeting Rust’s eyes. “There’s nothing you can do. What’s done is done.”

It wasn’t an answer but Marty knew better than to push. Nothing he could say would convince Rust one way or the other, and it would only serve to make Marty look and feel more the fool. He settled back into his chair again and tried to relax.

 _What’s done is done._ Rust was right. And what would be, would be. But at least Marty could try to be better, even if Rust decided he didn’t want Marty in his life. Marty would _be_ better.

They drank in comfortable silence for a while.

“We need to talk about this?” Rust finally asked, gesturing between them with his bottle. Marty blew out a breath.

What a question. He wasn’t even sure how to answer, because in the moment, he was fine. He didn’t want to fuck Rust. But in the back of his head he knew it was likely he’d want to again. Now that he’d had this, he’d want it and want it.

And he thought _Rust_ was the addict.

“My therapist would say fuck yes, but I don’t know… Don’t know if I can. I, uh-” Marty searched for the right thing to say and came up blank - he wasn’t seeing the therapist anymore, after all - so he just blurted out the first thing that occurred to him. “I think we had some things to work through… after everything that happened...”

Another hum, more skeptical than the first. Maybe that was just Marty projecting. He knew it was bullshit, or at least mostly bullshit. “Do I need to worry about any histrionics on your part?”

“Histrionics?”

“Ya gonna freak out on me, Marty?”

“No?” Marty knew it was probably a lie, but in the moment, he didn’t feel the need to examine it. It wasn’t like he wanted to fuck other men. Not in the abstract. Was he attracted to them? Sure. But the thought of letting another man close enough to do what Rust had- No. This could have only happened with Rust. “Probably not.”

“So yes, then.”

“I’ll try to keep a lid on it.” He grinned crookedly at Rust and the man returned with his own subtle smile.

Had their friendship felt like this before? Marty wasn’t sure. He’d spent their time apart picking at their partnership to the point where he’d lost all objectivity. But he’d been honest enough with himself - with the help of the department-mandated therapist - to realise that most of the tension between them had been Marty’s territorial behaviour about his family. Rust had never been a threat.

“You’re staring,” Rust said bluntly. Marty blinked. He _had_ been staring, he realised, while lost in thought. Rust tilted his head and considered him. “So have we worked through our issues?”

Marty blinked, thrown off. For his part, he’d stopped blaming Rust a long time ago, but they’d always had problems.

“I donno. Have we?”

“Probably not,” Rust mumbled. “Don’t know if this is the best way to work through them.”

“Probably not,” Marty agreed. He wanted to add that didn’t rule out fucking for fun. “We could talk about them?”

“What? We gonna go to couples’ counselling?” Rust joked.

“If that’s what it takes.” Marty meant it as a joke, but the spirit behind it was serious. Rust gave him a strange, fleeting look.

“What’s this gonna be then? Friends?” Rust deadpanned. “No offense, Marty, but you don’t particularly like me. We got along occasionally. We were a good team at times. But friends?”

Marty leaned forward, propping his elbows on his knees. “I know you don’t have any reason to believe me, but I actually do like you. You’re… odd, yeah. You’re off-putting and abrasive- shit… But you’re… See, this is what I was talkin’ ‘bout. ‘Bout me being an asshole to you. I don’t mean these things as insults. You’re the most interesting person I’ve ever met and I fucking _like_ you. I’m just- I was shit at showing it.”

It struck Marty that against all odds, Rust was probably his closest friend. He was certainly the person that knew Marty the best, because he saw straight through all of Marty’s bullshit. It was uncomfortable, because it made their friendship a bit one-sided.

Marty wanted to throw the question back at Rust: _Do you even like_ me _?_ Because he really wasn’t sure. You didn’t have to like someone to want to fuck them. But Marty was too afraid to ask. He’d take what he could get.

“But like I said, I’m trying to be better- a better man, better at communicating… I don’t deserve a second chance but I’d like to be a better friend to you than I was in the past.” He stopped and realised his heart was pounding in anticipation of the inevitable rejection.

“Yeah… we’ll see.” Rust looked away from him and took another drag from his cigarette. Marty tried not to feel disappointed as he drained his bottle. “Have another beer.”

“Best not,” he said, shaking his head. The whole night had ground to an anticlimactic halt and he was trying to figure out how to extricate himself. “Gotta drive home and I’m already-”

A giant yawn interrupted him. Rust rolled his eyes and stood up. He flipped the porch light off, then threw himself back into his chair.

“You can crash here. Now, don’t make me drink alone.” Marty pulled another two beers from the cooler and chuckled. He didn’t want to hope, but regardless, hope lodged itself underneath his lungs.

“Don’t have to twist my arm.” When he handed Rust his beer, he clinked their bottles together. “To friendship.”

“Not too late to send you home, you know,” Rust muttered, but even in the dim light, Marty could see the corner of his mouth twitch.

They sat in front of Rust’s house, drinking beers and watching the stars until the parking lot emptied. Their silence wasn’t exactly comfortable. There was too much expectation on Marty’s side, and too little he could read off Rust. Marty reminded himself that it was only fair.

When Rust finally stood at some unknowable signal, he lead Marty inside and to bed. It was strange - both in the fact that it was new but also because it felt natural, to shuck off his pants and lay in the dark next to Rust.

They fell asleep in Rust’s bed, curled up on opposite sides. As Marty drifted off, burying his face into the pillow Rust had given him, he realised that the sheets had been changed.

####  **Monday**

Marty woke up gradually, becoming aware of several things in stages: he was warm and comfortable. He wasn’t in his bed. The angle of the light was wrong and - he inhaled deeply - the smell was familiar but different. He was sore and lose in a way that he associated with really good sex.

The last thing that occurred to him was that something was pressed against his back. He could feel breath between his shoulder blades.

 _Rust_.

Marty let himself drift in that transitory space between sleep and wakefulness. It was one thing to go without sex for six months, but he’d missed more than just fucking. He’d hardly been touched at all since Maggie’d left him. Macie occasionally gave him fleeting hugs but other than that, nothing. After ten years of marriage, he’d taken for granted the small contacts like sharing a bed with another person. He missed it. He missed it so badly, he’d taken to hugging a pillow in order to fall asleep. Not that he’d ever, _ever_ admit that.

This - Rust seeking him out in his sleep - wasn’t the same as true intimacy and affection, obviously, but it was _something_ , even if it brought into razor sharp focus that Marty was fucking _lonely_.

The sex had helped though, even as it served as a reminder. He tried pushing those memories aside. Now wasn’t the time to dwell on them, with Rust curled up against his back, because all of that was over and that was fine. Just fine. Marty was glad he’d gotten a chance to apologise for what he’d done; that he’d get time to make it up to Rust in a way.

Rust shifted. His arm snaked around Marty’s waist and pulled him closer. Rust pressed himself to Marty’s back and sighed. Marty was suddenly much more awake, because Rust was hard- hard and grinding his hips against Marty’s ass.

Marty wanted to pretend to be asleep. He wanted to see where Rust would take this. But then Rust’s hand drifted down to the waistband of Marty’s boxers and Marty was forced to grab his wrist.

“Uhm… Rust?” Marty croaked. Rust dragged his nose up Marty’s neck and into his hairline.

“This okay?” Rust twisted his hand in Marty’s grip.

“Yeah, but-” Rust took ahold of Marty’s hand and manoeuvred both their hands into Marty’s underwear. “Oh, shit… Rust… _oh..._ ”

Rust guided their entwined hands around Marty’s cock, stroking him. He thrust against Marty’s ass in rhythm so that on each upstroke, Marty could push back against Rust.

“I thought-” he began in a strangled voice.

“Stop thinking, Marty.”

And apparently this is what they did now, because he listened and let Rust jerk him off slowly as the morning sun slanted across the bed. This was just fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title taken from Bishop's Knife Trick by Fall Out Boy, which is one of the songs that really set the tone for this fic.
> 
> Kudos and comments give me life. <3


	4. No Time To Reconcile Me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty had no self control, especially where Rust was concerned.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// for very mild choking? Like, it's barely even a thing.

####  **Monday-Wednesday**

They didn’t talk about it, which Marty was both grateful and incredibly frustrated by, because he wanted to know when he could get more of Rust.  _ Friends maybe…  _ And apparently the type of friends that sometimes fucked. Marty could do that.

He’d left Rust at his door with some vague comment about hanging out again soon.  _ We could watch a game or go to the movies or something,  _ Marty had said lamely and then winced at how pathetic he sounded.

_ Have we ever done either of those things? _ Rust had muttered without even looking at him. Marty had merely shrugged.

_ Whatever you want, Rust.  _ He’d hated how he sounded. He hated this feeling of being at Rust’s mercy like this. Sexually, sure. It was  _ exciting _ , but Rust had shut down on him again, holding Marty at arm’s length.

_ We’ll see…  _

They’d left it like that. Marty had walked back to his car, neck prickling with the desire to turn around to see if Rust was watching him.

He could do this.

####  **Thursday**

Except that he couldn’t. Marty knew his restraint left something to be desired. But he wasn’t doing anything wrong. It wasn’t like Rust had banned him from the bar this time. And after spending his few fleeting hours with Macie on Wednesday, he had nothing but the slog of the work week and a long, empty weekend to look forward to.

Marty wasn’t obsessing about it anymore, at least. He’d lost that fevered longing that had plagued him the first week after Rust had fucked him. In some ways though, it was worse, because he had to acknowledge that his desire was more than just wish-fulfillment or penance or…  _ whatever _ . It wasn’t a passing thing.

He avoided acknowledging it anyway, telling himself  _ it is what it is. _

He swung by Rust’s bar on a slow Thursday evening after leaving interviewing a KA. He happened to be in the area and it was just one drink. He told himself not to expect anything. Rust might not even be there. Marty had been very careful not to check for his truck.

He wasn’t here for Rust.

_ You’re so full of shit, Hart _ . The voice in his head sounded far too much like Rust.

Marty stepped through the door and there he was. 

Rust was behind the bar and he raised his eyes to meet Marty’s, as if he’d known it be him that stepped through the door. His expression didn’t change, but he watched Marty approach the bar. When Marty slid onto one of the barstools, Rust turned away and in a few moments, turned back with a long neck and two shot glasses.

He placed the beer in front of Marty. He gave no indication that Marty was different from any other patron. He poured two whiskey shots, then finally looked Marty in the eye.

“Marty…” Rust said somberly, holding up one of the shots. Marty obliged and picked up the other. “You here to drink or back for seconds?”

Rust shot back the whiskey smoothly. Marty was frozen, completely captivated by the way Rust’s adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed; the way he licked his lower lip after. He sat down his whiskey. He didn’t think he could drink it without choking.

“I came for a drink,” he said, hoping he sounded casual. He took a deep breath and let himself be honest. “And to see you.”

Rust scoffed and stepped back, spreading his arms. “You’ve seen me and you got your drink. Anything else?”

Irritation flared in Marty. He hadn’t known what to expect coming here, but it hadn’t been this… this indifference bordering on hostility. He wanted the fucker to  _ care _ . “What the fuck, Rust? Did I do something to piss you off?”

“Really, Marty?” Rust reached for the second shot, but Marty snatched it first and slammed it. He was a lot less graceful about it, pulling a face at the burn. Rust chuckled at him.

“Look,” Marty wheezed. “I know I probably shouldn’t have just dropped in, but if we’re going to be friends-”

“Jury’s still out on that one.”

“-then I figured it’d be a good start. Casual, you know?” He took a quick drink of his beer, unable to sit still or shut up. Nervous; he was  _ nervous _ . “I didn’t think…  _ seconds  _ were an option.”

Marty waited for a response, thinking about that slow morning hand job, but Rust just poured two more shots.

“Come on,” he urged, holding up his glass. Marty sighed and mirrored Rust. This time when Rust took the shot, so did Marty. At this rate, he was going to be drunk. That hadn’t been his intention and he didn’t really want it. Drinking around Rust was a bad idea. When he set his glass upside down on the bar, Rust reached over and touched Marty’s wrist, and repeated his words in an entirely different tone. “Come on.”

Rust turned and walked out from behind the bar without looking back. Marty looked around the empty bar, the idea slowly computing that Rust wanted him to follow. By the time Marty’d figured it out, Rust had disappeared down the back hall. He tried very hard not to look like he was hurrying after Rust. He wasn’t sure he succeeded. He wasn’t sure he gave a damn.

Rust was waiting for him in the office door. He didn’t say anything to Marty, just slipped his fingers around Marty’s wrist and pulled him into the room. It was dim; the room lit only by the light of the shifting screensaver of the computer on the desk. The light played over the sharp line of Rust’s cheekbone and his jaw; haloed his hair. Marty raised a hand to touch, but hesitated, thinking better of it.

Rust locked the door and pushed Marty up against it. By now, Marty had tuned into Rust’s mood enough to know not to say anything. Rust’s hands were on his belt. It was clear what he intended so Marty rolled with it, reaching for Rust’s jeans. They fumbled in the dark and then Rust was pushing close, hand dropping to cup Marty’s cock.

“ _ Oh… _ ” Marty sighed, leaning his head back against the door. This was… different. Different for them but familiar to Marty, reminding him of his youth. He knew how to do this, physically, but his head got in his way. He didn’t know how to do this with Rust.

Rust let his head drop against Marty’s shoulder as he touched them until they were both hard. Then he drew back just long enough to lick his palm - catching Marty’s eye as he did so - and wrap his slick hand around both their erections. He tilted his head back onto Marty’s shoulder and exhaled in a deep, satisfied way.

Rust kept it slow, stroking both of them with his fist. It wasn’t enough. Marty stopped letting his hands hover short of touching Rust. He gripped Rust’s hips, pulling him in tighter and rolling his hips in time with Rust’s strokes. Rust turned his head and sighed against Marty’s skin above his collar. He found himself tipping his head to the side in invitation, even though he knew if Rust bit him again now, there’d be no way of hiding it, short of a turtleneck.

He still wanted it, because he didn’t think this was going to be enough for him to come.

Then Rust licked a stripe up Marty’s neck. Marty’s toes curled and he arched his neck, panting. Rust grazed his teeth down the same path.  _ Don’t you fucking dare _ , Marty thought at the same time he desperately hoped,  _ Bite me again. Oh, fu- _

Rust increased the pressure; not a true bite but possessive all the same. Marty whined. Rust released him and licked over the spot.

“You keep that up, I’ll mark you again,” Rust muttered.

The words were spilling from Marty’s lips before checking in with his brain. No, his brain had checked out for the moment. “ _ Please… _ ”

Rust tugged at the knot of Marty’s tie, popped the top two buttons, and pulled the collar of the shirt to the side. He dragged his lips over the sensitive skin of Marty’s clavicle. Marty slid a hand up and under Rust’s shirt. He could feel Rust’s spine; his ribs; the lines of his muscles stretched over the frame of him, but instead of feeling as though Rust was fragile, it made Marty want to drop to his knees. It made every rational thought dribble right out of Marty’s head and turned his legs to jelly.

He moved his hand higher - rucking up Rust’s shirt - and out through the back of the neckhole. He gripped the short hair on the back of Rust’s head and pulled Rust back so they were face to face. Rust’s eyes blinked open to half-mast and met Marty’s. Rust’s hand lost its rhythm and he swayed on his feet.

Marty moved his grip on Rust’s hip to the small of his back, pressing them together until Rust was forced to let go of their cocks. He planted his hands on either side of Marty’s head and ground his hips into Marty. A mixture of sweat and precome made it slick and sweet, and Marty wanted…

He  _ wanted.  _ But he wasn’t allowed  _ that _ .

Rust’s head was pulled back at an uncomfortable angle by the grip Marty had on his hair, exposing the long line of his throat. It was the most vulnerable he’d ever seen the man. It reminded him of the time Rust had shown up on Marty’s doorstep, drunk as a skunk and looking like he wanted to be taken apart.

Marty  _ really _ wanted to take Rust apart.

He leaned in and kissed the hollow of Rust’s throat, tongue darting out to taste the tang of sweat and bitterness of cigarette smoke. He mimicked what Rust had done to him moments or minutes or hours before, dragging his tongue slowly up to the joint of his jaw where he sucked lightly. Rust moaned in a broken way that sounded suspiciously close to Marty’s name.

He didn’t think. He moved his lips to Rust’s mouth to kiss him-

But Rust’s hand closed around Marty’s neck - quick and firm - pinning him to the door. He wedged his other hand between them and jerked Marty off, hard and fast; so fast that it was all over before Marty knew what hit him. He came, seeing bright stars in the dark of the office.

Rust stepped back from him and Marty blinked rapidly. He wanted to see him, but Rust was zipping up his jeans already. He wanted to pull him close again; stop his walls from going up immediately. 

Rust tugged him away from the door, and for a breathless moment he thought he was going to get what he wanted. But Rust was just moving him so he could get out of the office.

“Wait a few minutes before you come out.” And then he was gone. Marty was left with come on his stomach and who knew where else, feeling as though the floor had fallen out from under him. Pressure built behind his eyes, a feeling he recognised from after they’d fucked in the bathroom. He took a deep breath and pushed the feeling down, willing himself to keep it together.

He straightened himself up as best as he could, then peeked out into the hallway before sneaking into the restroom. He locked himself in and used the mirror to make sure he looked- well… to make sure he looked anything but the way he felt: fucked and used.

His eyes were red. He just looked tired and incredibly  _ sad _ . It wasn’t until he saw it that he realised that he  _ was _ sad. And not his normal, functioning sadness, but something deeper and hidden, with a source that Marty couldn’t identify.

Marty washed his face and stepped back into the hallway, but instead of turning left to go back to the bar and to Rust, he turned right. He couldn’t face it. He felt shaky and jilted and angry because he had no right to feel like this. He wanted to go home and hopefully forget that any of this had happened.

Rust was outside the employee exit, smoking a cigarette. He seemed twitchy and on edge.

“Tryna sneak off? How many times have you stiffed this place now?”

“No,” Marty mumbled. “Yes. I don’t know.”

“What is it, Marty? Was it not good for you?” Rust asked coolly and in that moment, Marty hated him. He hated the easy way he was leaning against the back of the bar. He hated the way he held the cigarette between his first and middle fingers. He hated how he wore his untucked and rumpled shirt like armour.

This effortless grace had always infuriated Marty. It was like the man had been a model in his former life and now he existed solely to make the mere mortals around him look like schlubs.

It stung even more acutely now, because now Marty knew that Rust had the ability to reduce him to a wobbly, boneless mess willing to grovel at Rust’s feet, and Rust… Rust had to rub it in that Marty didn’t have the same effect on him. It was stupid and prideful but Marty wanted to see Rust lose control.

Marty wanted to be the cause of it.

“Fuck you. You damn well know it was great. Always is.” He sounded like a sullen child and yet it took every last ounce of restraint not to cross his arms over his chest.

“What is it, then?” Rust sucked the last of the cigarette in one long pull, the smoke spilling from between his lips as he talked. “What’s got your panties in a twist?”

He flicked the butt to the side and stared Marty down.

“What the fuck is this?” Marty finally blurted. “You doing this out of some… strange power trip? Does it get you off that you got me gagging for it?”

Rust pushed away from the building and walked until he was standing in front of Marty. Marty had to look up slightly. He clenched his jaw, waiting for whatever was coming.

“I don’t think you’d like my answer,” Rust said flatly.

“Try me.” He wanted to push Rust until he lashed out or went away. He wanted to push Rust; wanted to fight him again.

“Do I like the way you gasp and moan when I get my cock in you? Do I like the way you practically beg for it? Do I like how you can’t seem to get enough? Fuck yes, I do. Be a damn fool not to.” The answer stole the air from Marty’s lungs. Rust had said he wouldn’t like his answer, but Marty… Marty liked it a  _ lot _ . Despite having just come, he felt his dick twitch at the thought that Rust liked fucking him as much as he liked being fucked. 

“But I’m not fool enough to believe it’ll last,” Rust added.

It knocked Marty sideways - filled him with hot shame and lust and confusion. He hadn’t been ready and he certainly didn’t like it. Rust pushed past him to go back inside and Marty couldn’t even protest, because Rust had his number. Marty had no self-control, so it was good one of them did. But Marty wasn’t ready to give up without a fight.

“Who says it won’t?” he called after Rust, heart in his throat. He felt a petty victory in the way Rust’s steps faltered. He paused in the doorway and turned his head; not exactly looking back at Marty, but acknowledging Marty all the same. “Who says it has to?”

“Go home, Marty. I’ll see you soon enough,” was all Rust offered him, leaving him alone behind the bar.

His pride didn’t let him follow. He left with his tail between his legs, half convinced he’d never see Rust again but still looking forward to the possibility that he would.

Marty’s head was filled with static. In the thirty minutes or so that it took to drive home, he went through a rollercoaster of emotion. First worked himself up into a righteous anger aimed directly at Rust.

_ Fuck him. How dare he be so unfeeling about this. Man doesn’t have a heart. I may be a fuck-up but at least I  _ feel _ things. _

But as soon as he got himself into such a temper that he hoped to never see Rust again, the reality that he possibly  _ could  _ never see Rust again barrelled into him and punched the wind out of him. Marty had no idea what he wanted anymore, but he knew he didn’t want that.

Marty stormed into his apartment and proceeded to get very, staggeringly drunk, but all that accomplished was him - a desperate, uncoordinated mess on his bed - fucking himself with three fingers and cursing Rust’s name that he’d ever awakened this in Marty.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from If You Talk Too Much (My Head Will Explode) by People in Planes.
> 
> Points to the person that notices the detail Marty missed during his encounter with Rust.


	5. Something False That Once Was True

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty struggled to keep his balance- or any of the promises he made to himself, for that matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// Marty goes off the deep end a bit with alcohol in this chapter.

###  **Week Three**

####  **Friday**

He felt like shit the next morning, both physically and emotionally. He was pathetically hungover, but what was worse was the uncertainty of where he stood with Rust.

He curled his hands into fists and tried to focus. All he could fucking think about was Rust - and all the messy, complicated shit he felt. He knew he needed to try and pick apart this rat’s nest, but work wasn’t the place to do it.

He reread the same sentence in the email he’d been trying to respond to for the last - he checked his watch - fuck, it’d been nearly an hour. Nope, it wasn’t going to happen. He got up and went to get himself more coffee.

He stood in the break room and sipped his hot beverage. He knew that this was fleeting, that’d he’d find a way to ruin it or that Rust would put an end to it. There wasn’t a future here. Marty didn’t feel like he had much of a future at all. He was living his life week-to-week; time marked by the one night he got visitation with Macie. The rest of his nights had little to differentiate themselves from one another.

Until Rust. And yeah, it was nice to have something that wasn’t bittersweet to look forward to, even if it was tinged with the shadow of its inevitable ending. Or maybe that was Marty letting himself get bogged down in his post-separation mindset. He knew he was seeing everything with jaded, biased eyes.

Maybe he should see that therapist again, he considered, but then the thought of having to tell her that he’d found Rust and now they were sleeping together… He knew it was her job to be impartial but he couldn’t imagine her having anything _good_ to say about this.

Just then, Salter walked in.

“Morning, Major,” Marty mumbled.

“Hart.” The Major fixed himself a cup of coffee - black; Marty cringed - and glanced over at him. “Not for nothing, but you look like you’re finally coming out the other side. Told you all it would take is time.”

Marty nodded, hiding behind his mug. For fuck’s sake, he hoped Leroy didn’t want to actually talk about his divorce. “Yup. Papers have been filed. Hoping to put this in my rearview.”

“How’re the girls?”

_Goddammit._

“Fine, fine. Well, you know: teenagers.” He shrugged. Leroy squinted at him, like he didn’t believe him. “They’re a nightmare, to be honest.”

“Can’t tell you how glad mine’re grown,” Salter chuckled. “It’s hell, but this too shall pass. Hang in there.”

He cuffed Marty’s shoulder as he walked passed. Marty let out a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding and followed him out of the break room, heading back to his desk. The desk adjacent to him was still empty. For months, Marty had avoided looking at it because, by its mere existence, it was a recrimination; a physical reminder of what Marty had fucked up and lost. It’d been haunted by the ghost of Rust.

Hell, the whole place seemed haunted and quite a few times, Marty had considered transfering precincts, but too much had changed too fast for Marty to face something like that now. He needed all the stability he could get and this bullpen was pretty much it at the moment. The rest of his life was an ever-shifting mire of uncertainty.

And now this new... _thing_ with Rust, which oscillated wildly between feeling transitory and like a revelation. Marty should know better than to trust it, but Marty’s heart and head didn’t communicate very well. He wished they’d get on the same page for once.

Marty realised he was sitting at his desk, staring at the spot where Rust used to sit across from him. Okay, yeah… he needed to talk to someone about this.

He set his coffee aside and picked up his cellphone to call the therapist he’d been forced to see for three months after his scene with Rust in the parking lot. Leroy hadn’t yelled at him back then, after Rust had quit and walked out, but his disappointment and bewilderment had been loud enough to make Marty wish he would. After he’d admitted to his Major that Maggie was leaving him, he’d also earned himself a well-deserved two week suspension - for the fight in the parking lot - and the advice to _get his head on right_.

And right now, Marty knew he didn’t have his head on right. He made an appointment for next Tuesday; the soonest she was available. He just wished he could talk to someone _now_.

The day was one hell of a wash. Marty filled out some paperwork, dawdling over it until it was an acceptable hour to get the hell home. He needed to be alone. Despite still feeling the effects of last night’s binge, he wanted to be drunk.

Being drunk meant that he didn’t have to think about _it_ and that he could indulge without trying to justify anything.

####  **Friday-Saturday**

His night was a blur as he made his way through whatever beer he had in his apartment and a fifth of whiskey. He passed out on the couch around midnight, some unremarkable film playing on the television.

He woke up in the early hours of the morning and was violently ill. He should have eaten something for dinner, he thought with his cheek pressed against the cold surface of the tub side. After what felt like hours of laying on the tile floor of his bathroom, Marty staggered to bed. His last thoughts were about he was never drinking again. He was done.

Done with it all; drink and Rust and the wanting. Tomorrow, he’d go pick up a girl and fuck whatever this was out of his system.

When he finally woke for real - sober and in the daylight -  it was past noon. He gingerly got up and made himself an obscene amount of scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast. He sat himself in front of the television again and washed it all down with a beer he’d somehow missed.

So much for not drinking, but he told himself that it was just a bit of the hair of the dog.

There was a laundry list of shit Marty needed to get done today, but he lay down on the couch and napped away the afternoon and well into the night. He was too old to binge like this anymore.

He was woken by his cellphone. He scrabbled for it where it had fallen onto the floor and under the couch. His hazy brain had the time to register that it was very late; dark had fallen and the apartment complex had that middle-of-the-night quiet. He answered without bothering to look at the number.

“Yeah?” he rasped. He expected it to be work; some sort of grisly scene. He hunched on the couch, head in hands. There was a lot of background noise on the other end of the line. “Who is this?”

“It’s me.” Marty sat up straighter. With anyone else, he’d need more, but with Rust _It’s me_ was more than enough. Marty glanced at his phone and registered the time: 1:03 AM.

“Hey… uh… why are you calling me?” It sounded brusque and dismissive, so he tried again. “I mean, it’s late. Are you okay?”

“I’m a bartender,” Rust said bluntly, as if Marty was an idiot. Marty rankled but he wasn’t up to making a smartass comeback. He wasn’t so much hungover anymore than dehydrated. He needed to chug a few glasses of water and pop some ibuprofen.

“It’s called a pleasantry, Cohle, and that doesn’t really answer my question.” Marty’s heart was racing from the mixture of abrupt waking and the excitement he felt whenever talking to Rust now.

“I get off in an hour,” Rust mused. “Do you wanna to come over?”

Marty’s head hurt, his back hurt, and he was starving. But who was he kidding? He did. He wanted to go over so bad on the off chance Rust would fuck him; would touch him; would smile at him; would just want him around. His resolve to distance himself really hadn’t lasted long.

“You got food?” Rust’s laughter was immediate and hoarse, like it was hardly used. Marty couldn’t recall hearing Rust laugh much during their years together, so it was likely Rust didn’t laugh much.

Marty wanted to change that.

“If you don’t mind bar fare, I’ve got food.”

“Best kind,” he answered. He was already smiling to himself. Rust _and_ greasy food were exactly what the doctor ordered. “What time do you want me?”

“Two-ish. I’m closing up now but if I’m not there, wait for me on the lawn chairs. I’ll bring beer.” He paused for a moment too long and Marty thought that maybe he was thinking better of it. “You bring the cigarettes.”

Marty’s smile broadened. “Yessir.”

\---

It felt strange pulling up to the bar and not parking up front like a customer. He swung around back to park next to Rust’s truck on the gravel. It felt illicit somehow, even though it was past closing time and there were only a few people milling around in the parking lot still talking and smoking. Hell, if anything, their presence made it feel more wrong. Years of fucking around had conditioned the reaction into him.

They weren’t doing anything improper, he reminded himself. There was no reason to feel guilty.

Marty unfolded the lawn chairs and pulled them close. He took a step back to study them, then adjusted them so that they were angled towards each other. Were they too close to be friendly? He’d been too surprised by Rust’s call to be nervous, but now that he was here, his stomach fluttered.

Or maybe that was the ill-advised drinking from the other day.

Marty placed the carton of Lucky Strikes he’d purchased at an all-night gas station on the way over. Belatedly, he realised that it was probably overkill. He should have just bought a pack. Now it’d look like he was trying too hard. He suddenly felt very aware that he _cared_ what Rust thought of him. He’d never much considered that before. Marty honestly couldn’t remember the last time he worried about what anyone thought of him, except in the short term. He’d always taken people’s esteem for granted.

Marty sat, crossed his legs, uncrossed his legs, and was about to get up - to do what, he didn’t know - when the halo of red light that bled around and above the building suddenly disappeared - the bar’s neon sign shutting off.

Marty was halfway standing - hands on the flimsy plastic armrests of the chair - when Rust opened the back door. He froze, eyes meeting Rust’s in the faint, yellow light from the insect-filled fixture high up on the back of the building.

Rust didn’t miss a beat. He kicked the door shut behind him and strolled over to Marty, as if he didn’t have a care in the world. He held out both hands; one holding a paper to-go box, the other a six pack.

“Pick your poison,” he said in lieu of a greeting.

Marty lowered himself back down into the creaky chair, then snagged the food and also a beer. He aimed a challenging smirk up at Rust.

“Greedy,” Rust teased. Marty opened the container to find fries and chicken strips. Rust stole a few fries and turned towards his seat.

“Fuck yes, I am,” he shot back, taking a big bite of chicken and grinning at Rust. Rust plucked the cigarettes off his seat and settled down. He gestured at Marty with the carton.

“Feel like I’m giving you the short end of the stick. What this set you back?”

“You kiddin’? Fried food is worth its weight in gold after a good binge.” Marty settled the food in his lap and popped open the beer. He was still thirsty despite the water he’d gulped down before leaving home, so he took deep swig and nearly choked in surprise. This wasn’t domestic shit. It was citrusy and hoppy. He took another pull and rolled the beer over his tongue.

“In that case, you owe me,” Rust said mildly, setting the cigarettes aside and opening a beer for himself. He seemed relaxed and loose in a way Marty wasn’t used to and it made Marty unclench a bit.

“Name it, it’s yours.” He finished his beer, enjoying the complexity of the flavour. It actually complemented the chicken strips in a weird way. He squinted at the label in the dim light. “What is this?”

“Some local microbrew. They’re always sending samples. Owner don’t like ‘em much but I do.” Rust raised an eyebrow at him, daring him to say something. He was silent, holding out the to-go box towards Rust. Rust grabbed more fries and then handed him another beer.

Marty felt like he’d learned more about Rust in these past weeks than he had in all the years previous. He sat back and sipped at the second beer. It really was pretty good. He savoured this one, just trying to feel out all the flavours, but he didn’t have much of a pallet. All he knew was that he liked it, so he leaned over and grabbed a third to show his appreciation. He was filling up on beer instead of solid food. Definitely one of the reasons he drank the big names; they were so much lighter.

“It’s… nice.” He couldn’t think of anything else to say. He was no connoisseur, but damn, did he wish he had something better to offer than _It’s nice_. He turned his attention back to his meal.

“Go easy on ‘em though. They’re something like ten percent.” Marty hummed around a mouthful of fries. Now that Rust mentioned it, he could already feel the alcohol’s effects. “Wouldn’t want you over-indulging again. I’m not gonna hold your hair back if you get sick.”

“Yeah, you would,” Marty garbled with a full mouth, enjoying the banter but not much meaning it. Rust was quiet and took a long, slow drink.

“Yeah, I probably would.” He looked away from Marty thoughtfully.

“S’what makes you a better person than me,” Marty teased lightly. He didn’t want Rust retreating into his mind in that way he did. He leaned over and clinked his beer against Rust’s to get his attention. Cold, blue eyes snapped to meet his. “Hey.”

“Well, that’s no secret,” Rust said, heaving himself to his feet and stooping to snag the cigarettes. Marty was momentarily confused, but Rust paused at his door. “I’m getting bit up. You coming?”

What was Rust talking about? The mosquitoes weren’t bad toni- Then Rust tipped back the last of his beer, finishing it in a few deep swallows, and it clicked. He met Marty’s gaze briefly before making a sweeping gesture of welcome into the house.

_Holyshit._

Marty scrambled to his feet, bringing along the food and beer. He knew he looked over eager with the way Rust’s mouth quirked on his way past, but at this point, he couldn’t care less. He had fries and beer and Rust. He was more content than he had any right to be.

Marty faltered in the middle of the living room when Rust flipped on the light. There was no place to sit in here. Rust’s palm touched the base of his spine. The heat of it spread over Marty’s skin and he was very, painfully aware of how much he wanted this to go further but also about what Rust had said before.

“Bedroom. Only comfortable place, ‘less you wanna sit on the toilet.” Rust pointed to the bedroom with the hand holding his empty bottle, as if Marty didn’t know where it was; as if Marty didn’t have very vivid memories of that room. “I’ll be right there.”

Marty looked at him curiously, but headed into the bedroom and sat down awkwardly. He felt like he was intruding even though he’d been here before; even though Rust had explicitly told him to wait here. He heard water running on the other side of the wall the mattress was pressed against and realised that the bathroom must be through the kitchen. He kicked off his shoes, set his food on the floor and laid back on the bed.

This was all so casual when Marty felt like it shouldn’t be. He didn’t feel like he’d earned this easy access into Rust’s life and home. He flipped over onto his stomach, propping himself up on his elbows, and continued to nurse his beer while perusing the titles of the books that lined the wall. They were stacked haphazardly, so that not all the spines were legible, and the only light he had to read by was what leaked in from the living room. Marty hardly recognised any of them, but it was clear that Rust didn’t only read nonfiction about murder. It looked like he also read murder mysteries, philosophy, some poetry… Honestly, his taste was all over the place, it seemed.

_Huh..._

Marty reached out a hand and touched a couple titles, just to feel the texture of the broken spines. He wondered at all the hours Rust spent inside these books. He wondered what it was like to live such an interior life. Was it lonely? Or was Rust fulfilled by the words on these pages, with only his thoughts for company?

And now sometimes Marty.

Marty was definitely feeling the craft beer; happy and boneless. He was that perfect sort of drunk that could easily tip over into too much. He finished the bottle in his hand and called it good.

The water shut off and footsteps made their way to the bedroom, where they paused in the doorway. Marty rolled onto his back and stretched his arm over to set his empty bottle next to his half-eaten food. Rust watched him. Marty wedged his hands under his head. _Let him look_.

In return, Marty studied Rust as best he could with the man being backlit. His shirt was unbuttoned, hanging open. He was barefoot too. He painted a very enticing image. Rust had always been something to look at. Marty had wanted those cheekbones, those shoulders, that slim waist, and he supposed not much had changed. He just wanted them in a different way.

“Enough being coy,” Rust rasped, voice rough. Marty dragged his eyes down Rust and saw he was hard. “I wanna fuck you. You game?”

 _Fuck yes_ , he thought. He sat up, leaning back on his elbows.

“Come’re,” he whispered, holding a hand out to Rust. He was vaguely aware that this was the reverse of their first time together. He felt bold, the beer keeping him just giddy enough to erase any trace of nerves that he might have felt otherwise.

Rust didn’t take his hand though. He stopped at the edge of the mattress and shrugged his shirt off, showing off and rolling his shoulders.

“You fishin’ for compliments, Cohle? Cause I got a list.” Marty let his hand fall to his stomach. It itched to travel lower; to touch himself through his jeans. He didn’t move though. He was waiting for Rust.

“Compliments, eh?” Rust stepped between Marty’s feet where they hung off the bed, nudging them apart.

“Mmm… yeah,” Marty whispered, sitting up. This put him noticeably close to Rust’s erection. Feeling reckless, he gripped Rust’s hips with both hands and brushed his cheek against Rust’s groin. That earned him a soft gasp. “Where should I start?”

He wanted to catch Rust off guard, so he dragged his lips over the length of Rust’s cock, the denim rough against Marty’s mouth, and then looked up at Rust. In the back of Marty’s mind, he kept waiting for this to feel weird but… it felt natural. Marty had always been good at this, the seduction.

Rust reached down and gripped Marty’s chin. He wasn’t gentle about it. Part of Marty wanted to jerk his head away, but the other part, the part that pretty much only woke up around Rust, stilled him and told him to wait for instruction. He met Rust’s gaze and held it. It was clear now that he was following Rust’s lead. He’d been following Rust’s lead since first stumbling into that bar, maybe even further back than that.

Rust’s eyes darted back and forth between Marty’s as if he was searching for something. Marty had no idea what he was looking for, but he seemed to find it.

“Clothes off,” he commanded.

Marty kept eye contact until the very last moment when he pulled his shirt over his head. He tried not to compare his body to Rust’s - there was no comparison - but the way Rust bent to help him yank his jeans off made him feel better. He kicked his jeans and underwear off his feet and reached for Rust again, but Rust stepped back.

“Lay on your side, facing the wall.”

Marty hesitated. He wanted to touch; wanted to help Rust undress. But then Rust took another step back and he hurried to comply. It was a little humiliating, to be honest; to be ordered to do something without knowing why and to leave himself exposed like this.

At the same time, Marty loved it.

He heard the rustle of clothing, presumably Rust taking off his jeans behind him. Then the shift of the mattress as Rust joined him. The first touch was Rust’s hand on the back of Marty’s neck and then he was pressing up behind Marty, thigh to chest. Marty’s interest ratcheted up to lust in a split second, so suddenly that his head swam.

Bare skin. A lot of it. God, Rust was naked with him. _Finally_.

“Rust…” He reached back and gripped Rust’s thigh just above his knee.

“Hush, there’s no hurry.” Rust ran a hand down Marty’s side, copping a feel of his ass.  This was absurd, but he was so fucking grateful for it; that Rust was giving him what he’d been wanting since the beginning. And all without Marty having to voice his desire for it. Rust knew. Rust knew _him._

Marty chuckled because otherwise he was going to choke on what he was feeling.

“Speak for yourself,” he muttered, arching his back and pushing against Rust’s erection. He wanted to be fucked but doubted his ability to say those words aloud without prompting. “I’m not a young man anymore.”

Rust pressed a kiss to his shoulder - the same place he’d bitten him just a couple weeks before - and trailed kisses up his neck. Marty closed his eyes and tried to breathe. He needed this.

“Young enough,” Rust mused, titling his hips ever so slightly. Marty turned his face into the bed and huffed out a breath.

“Tease,” he whispered.

 _Keep going_ , he thought.

“That supposed to be one of the compliments I was promised?” Rust shifted behind him. There was the click of plastic and then Rust’s fingers were slick and insistent; a circling pressure.

“God, _Rust…_ You want compliments?” Marty sighed deeply, giving in. He’d give Rust exactly what he wanted. He could do this. He squeezed his eyes shut tight and gave in. “I love your hands.”

Rust stopped and Marty groaned.

“You are the most impatient man,” Rust said in irritation, then slipped a finger into Marty without preamble. “Go on…”

“ _Fuuuuck_ … You could get me off just like this; with just your hands.” Rust fucked Marty with his finger, adding a second one seamlessly. “ _Oh…_ Can’t do it myself- but- _huh_ \- I know you- you could.”

Marty rocked back each time Rust pushed into him. He was nice and drunk, his tongue loosened to a dangerous degree, but what did he have to lose now? Rust knew; he had to know the hold he had on Marty. So Marty let it all spill out.

“Did you know I think about you when I finger myself? Whenever I touch myself at all? Can’t get off witho-” Rust slowly inserted a third finger. He was panting against Marty’s back, forehead resting against Marty’s neck. “ _Ohfuckme-_ ”

“Yeah, okay,” Rust muttered, pulling his fingers out and fumbling for a moment with a condom, cursing under his breath. Then he was shifting close again. Close, close, _closer..._

It was so easy this time. Rust pushed into him and Marty groaned at the satisfying stretch. Rust ran his hand down Marty’s thigh, pushing at it until Marty bent it up towards his chest. Rust tucked his leg up along with it and rolled his hips. Marty felt full in the best possible way, in a way he’d never could have imagined before all this.

“God, Rust. What have you done to me?” Marty breathed. Rust chuckled and wrapped his arm around Marty; elbow hooked over his hip, forearm brushing against Marty’s erection, lube-slick palm spread over Marty’s stomach.

“What I’ve done to _you_?” Rust repeated in a strange tone, then thrust slowly into Marty.

Marty couldn’t answer him. All he could do was strain back against Rust each time he fucked into Marty at a pace that built the pressure at the base of Marty’s spine so gradually, he thought he’d go mad from it.

“Rust… _Rustrustrust_ ,” he chanted. His entire world was contained in that name; narrowed down to this man and this bed and the friction between their two bodies. “God, Rust. I-”

Rust rolled them so that he was thrusting down into Marty, his arm braced parallel to Marty’s shoulder. Marty rubbed his temple against Rust’s bicep and whined. He tipped his hips to rut against the mattress, but Rust wedged his knee under Marty’s thigh.

“Slow…” Rust lifted himself up on his elbow, shifting so that his forearm was braced under Marty’s head. “Slow, baby.”

Marty kissed the vulnerable inside of Rust’s wrist, licking over the pulse there. Rust made a noise like the air had been punched out of him. His hips snapped into Marty - once, twice. Marty licked a stripe to the center of Rust’s palm. Rust’s fingers twitched, brushing against Marty’s cheek and temple, and he came, grinding his hips into Marty’s ass.

 _So close_. Marty worked a desperate hand under himself and in just a few fast, hindered strokes, came with a drawn out groan, burying his face in Rust’s palm. He hid there, dreading the inevitable retreat.

But Rust stayed. He rolled them back onto their sides and curled up behind him, the tips of his fingers playing through the come on Marty’s stomach. Long minutes passed as their breathing returned to normal and Marty found himself struggling to keep his eyes open.

Rust groaned and finally moved. There was the snap of the condom being tied off. Marty had known the separation was coming, but still-

“Shower?” Rust asked, already pulling Marty along with him.

Marty went along with him, surprised and sleepy. Rust guided him into the tiny stall barely big enough for the two of them.

“You okay?” Rust asked as he rinsed Marty off. All Marty could do was smile contentedly in answer and watch Rust wash his own hair. He was so fucking happy to just _be_ with Rust like this.

Then Rust dragged him back to bed, threw a comforter over the mess they’d made, and pulled Marty into his arms, tucking his face against Marty’s chest. Marty held Rust close and knew even in his sleep-, sex-, and beer-hazed mind that he was in deep, fucking trouble.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Around U by MUNA.
> 
> Also, yay! Marty finally got some aftercare. You think he realised this was Rust's way of apologising? No? Yeah, me neither...


	6. Keep My Demons To Myself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty was in danger of getting a life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Marty is still really bitter towards Maggie in this chapter. Dude has anger issues.
> 
> Also, there's a therapy session. I am not a therapist. I'm basing all this on my experience as a patient. :/

####  **Saturday**

Marty woke to the smell of coffee and blinked to find Rust sitting cross legged in bed next to him, holding a mug. It was early; too fucking early. And Marty was still groggy and steeped in endorphins from the night before. His inhibitions were low.

“Heya,” he murmured rolling towards Rust.

“Wake up. You gotta go,” he said far too loudly and held out the coffee. Rust was wearing boxers but little else and Marty was more interested in that than the coffee. He scooted closer and nuzzled against Rust’s thigh. “Not kidding, Marty.”

But he didn’t move away from Marty as he nosed the hem of Rust’s boxers higher, placing teasing kisses as far as the fabric would allow and then kissed Rust’s hardening cock through the material.

“Want me to stop?” he whispered, looking up at Rust. Rust looked taken aback, arms held up awkwardly. His blown pupils and his obvious surprise emboldened Marty.

“If I say ‘no’, what’re you planning?”

Marty snaked his hands up Rust’s legs and hooked the tips of his fingers into the elastic waistband.

“Don’t spill my coffee,” he murmured as he slowly pulled down Rust’s boxers. Rust leaned back onto his elbows, uncrossing his legs so that Marty could pull the underwear completely off. His mouth dropped open when Marty wrapped his hand around Rust’s cock.

He wasn’t sure if he was up for…  _ everything _ , but he knew he could make this good. He stroked Rust, twisting his wrist on the downward trip. Rust sagged back and tipped his face towards the ceiling. Marty wished he would watch him, so he reached up and took the mug from Rust’s lax fingers. He set it on the floor beside the bed, then settled between Rust’s spread legs with purpose.

“Focus,” he told Rust.

Rust’s hands were in his hair, guiding him, showing Marty how Rust liked it, and it wasn’t as bad as he expected it to be. It was a strange mixture of electric - the sounds Rust was making, the way he tugged at Marty’s hair, the heft of Rust’s dick on his tongue - and complex coordination - making sure to cover his teeth with his lips, to suck the right amount, to bob in time with the movement of his hand.

He still ended up oxygen deprived with drool all over his chin. Rust finally pulled him off and gave him a dark look.

“Can I fuck you again?” he said in a hoarse, wrecked voice.

“You fucking better,” Marty panted, rolling his hips into the mattress, giving his own erection some much needed attention. The look on Rust’s face as he watched was as sweet as the friction.

Rust shoved him out of his lap and flat onto his stomach. Then he clambered on top of Marty. He was so uncoordinated and in a rush that Marty considered his first foray into blowjobs a definite success. And then Rust got the condom on and spilled lube over Marty’s ass and-

“Oh,  _ jesus… _ ” Rust groaned into Marty’s ear as he sank into him, reaching up and threading their fingers together.

This time Rust actually made it slow and all their previous, fast fucks suddenly paled in comparison. They were good-  _ great _ \- but this… This was amazing.

“When can I see you next,” Marty whispered when Rust dragged his lips across Marty’s shoulder.

“Soon,” Rust said in a strained, breathy voice. “Soon.”

\---

Afterward, when Marty was home again, he wondered what  _ soon _ meant to Rust, because  _ right the fuck now _ wasn’t soon enough for Marty. And that, more than anything meant he was definitely in trouble, but Marty - deep in the throes of denial and really,  _ really _ good sex - couldn’t bring himself to care.

He spent all of Sunday in a haze of not caring, and then a restless night of caring too much, because as soon as his head hit his pillow, Marty realised that he was in over his head. All the questions he’d refused to ask himself came floating to the fore of his mind.

_ Is this really sustainable? What if shit goes bad? What does Rust want out of this? _

Hell, Marty wasn’t even sure what  _ he _ wanted, long term. Rust in his life was all he could come up with.

_ Shitshitshit. _

He needed some fucking help and fast.

####  **Monday**

Marty dragged himself into work late, having only gotten a few hours of sleep. As good as he’d been feeling about things with Rust, now all he could come up with were doubts. One thing was certain: he was tired of this yo-yoing of emotion. 

He’d barely sat down at his desk when his phone buzzed. He flipped it open to a new message from an unknown number:

_ there’s a viewing of shoah downtown this weekend interested? _

Marty blinked at the text, his brain trying to make sense of what he was looking at. Who the hell would ask him to go see a depressing documentary about-  _ Rust _ .

_ You asshole _ , he texted back.  _ Almost thought you were serious. _

In just a few seconds, the phone vibrated:  _ always knew you thought i was pretentious but give me some credit _

Marty grinned down at his phone for a minute before answering.  _ I give you more credit than you deserve. _

_ ive got the dead thursday shift if you want yet another free drink _

_ On second thought, I definitely don’t give you enough credit. _

_ is that a yes? _

_ Yes. _

Marty chuckled. Okay, so they weren’t plans, exactly, but it was something. He wanted to send Rust another message - he was pretty sure they were flirting -, but wasn’t sure what to say. He felt like he had too much and absolutely nothing to get out simultaneously. The small screen on his phone was inadequate in the worst way. Frustrated, he shut his phone up in his desk drawer and did his best to get back to work.

It definitely didn’t bother him that the phone didn’t buzz for the rest of the day.

He held out until six. He’d answered his email, finally, and typed up a few reports. He hated days like this. He wasn’t built to spend hours hunched over a keyboard. One of the big things he missed about having a partner - besides it being, you know,  _ Rust _ , who was always good for a distraction even if it was just bickering - was splitting up the paperwork.

He stood up and stretched, his back popping audibly.

“Damn, Hart. You need better posture,” Jenkins, the rookie that sat behind him, commented.

“Shut the fuck up. You have this to look forward to,” he shot back, voice strained as he held the stretch. “Getting too old for this shit.”

He shut down his computer, pulled his jacket from the back of his chair, and gathered his shit, including his phone. He checked it as he walked out to his car.

_ [1 MESSAGE] _

Marty tossed his jacket and briefcase into the passenger’s seat, sliding into the car. His hand was shaking as he opened the text.

It wasn’t Rust. It was from Maggie - he’d rather pettily changed her contact name to  _ Bitch _ in his phone.

_ Macie has a cheer event Wednesday. She can’t make visitation. _

The plastic casing of the phone creaked in Marty’s hand and he had to intentionally loosen his grip.  _ Fuck her. Fuck her!  _ She couldn’t do this. Marty felt like choking on his anger. He wanted to shoot a message back at her, telling her exactly what he thought about this development. Instead, he threw the phone as hard as he dared into the passenger footwell.

And immediately felt stupid, because he knew he’d have to fish it out when he got home.

He seethed the entire drive home, letting the righteous sense of unfairness have its way with him, but when he parked in front of his apartment, he took a moment.  _ Breathe in. Breathe out _ . He sucked air in through his nose and blew it out his mouth until he felt a bit calmer. It was something he’d learned from Dr. Thompson.

Then he groped around the floor for his phone. He could handle this. He drafted and deleted a half dozen replies before he settled on something he felt okay about sending; something nice and polite.

_ Is it a football game? I’d love to see her cheer. _

An immediate response:  _ You’ll have to ask her. I’ll be working. _

Her curt answer made him angry all over again - Macie was most likely within shouting distance of Maggie - but it was as good as a  _ yes _ . He toggled over to Macie’s number:  _ Hey, Mace. U ok w me coming to watch the game weds? _

His fingers hovered over the keys for second before he added:  _ We can go out to dinner after. _

He snapped the phone shut, effectively putting it out of mind. He told himself that he’d accept whatever answer he got, then went upstairs to make himself something to eat. He was starving.

Macie’s answer flashed up on the preview screen while he was boiling pasta.

_ [1 MESSAGE] _

_ Sure but itll b l8 b4 im done. 8ish. alfonsos? _

Alfonso’s was usually a special occasion restaurant, but they could make  _ this _ a special occasion.

_ It’s a date _ , he shot back. He knew he was in danger of becoming one of those single dads that bribed their kids into liking them.

_ Gross dad. Game’s @ 5. :) _

Marty smiled to himself as he closed the conversation. He went back to his texts with Rust and typed out  _ What are you doing Weds? _ before thinking better of it and deleting each letter carefully. No, that would be weird. Right? They’d said friends, but that didn’t happen overnight, no matter what Marty felt. That was just the sex - bonding chemicals and stuff. Rust needed time. Even that much was obvious to Marty.

The timer for the pasta beeped and he turned his attention to food. His week was filling up quickly - Therapy on Tues, Mace on Wednesday, and Rust, Thursday. If he wasn’t careful, he was in danger of getting a life.

It felt good.

####  **Tuesday**

God, he hated this, being back in the office of Dr. Thompson. He’d suffered through the mandatory hours with gritted teeth and short, irritated answers. Honestly, he’d felt bad for her then, and he felt bad that she had to deal with him again, but she already knew his whole, pathetic backstory. This was easier than having to start over. Marty couldn’t bear to walk a whole new person through that embarrassment.

Despite hating therapy, Marty liked his therapist. She was the kind of person that seemed effortlessly put-together but not in a pretentious way. Her wardrobe was impeccable and she carried herself with a natural poise that didn’t seem studied. She had a very calming demeanor and a way of delivering unpleasant truths in a way that didn’t sting too badly. Her words carried a particular weight with him. He’d found himself pondering over the things she said to him for weeks, even months, afterward.

“So, Martin. Do you want to tell me why you’ve decided to return to our sessions?” Dr. Thompson said in her deep, smooth voice.

“I didn’t give ya a fair shake last time, doc,” he muttered to his hands. They were seated across from each other on comfortable leather chairs. “I’ve had some time to let things… settle. And I realised that I probably need someone to talk to.”

“Well, that’s what I’m here for.” He looked up at her and her calm, placid face with just a hint of a smile on it. He knew that it was all a facade to make him open up, but this time around he tried not to think of it as a threat. It was her job and she was damn good at it. The only thing she would do with what he said here would be to try and help him. “What made you realise you needed to talk? Did something happen?”

Marty couldn’t bring himself to jump straight to the point.

“Yeah. A few things, actually. My ex is suing for divorce - got served… what? Almost two weeks ago - and it sort of hit me that-” He clapped his hands together sharply, sat back and laughed. “This is permanent. I mean, I knew it, but the reality has sunk in.”

“That’s an important step. It means you can start looking forward, rather than back.” She looked down at her notepad and scribbled a line. “So what are you looking forward to?”

Marty sighed and rubbed his hands on his thighs. He was sweating a little.

“Uhm… I get to see my girls - well, just Macie right now - every Wednesday. I get to see her cheer tomorrow night at a football game, then we’re going to dinner.” He grinned. “I’ve gotten to spend a lot of time with Mace. Not every Wednesday - Maggie and I don’t have an actual schedule yet, but…”

“Did you spend much time with your kids one-on-one before?”

“I’m a cop. I work long hours.” Thompson looked at him expectantly and he caught himself. He was making excuses. “No. I always left most of that to Maggie. I mean, we spent family time together but… no, not- No.”

“It’s common for fathers to take a step back when their daughters reach their teenage years, but it’s just as important for you to be an active parent now as it was when they were little.”

“I know. It just… have no idea what I’m doing. Teenage girls were a mystery to me when I  _ was _ a teenager and I’ve completely fucked up with Audrey…” Marty was terrified of making the same mistakes with Macie, even though she was so different from her older sister.

“Why do you feel this way?”

“Come on, doc. She’s- She hates my guts. All I tried to do was keep her safe but she was downright determined to-” He stopped himself, warm shame filling him up. He was deflecting. He blinked and saw a flash of his oldest, caked in makeup and looking like a stranger. “I know she’s supposed to be testing boundaries but I’m so  _ scared _ -”

The doctor was quiet while he struggled to scrape together his thoughts. “I feel like I’ve failed her.”

“How have you failed her?” He knew the answer to this, but it made him squirm just to think about it, let alone say it aloud.

“I have this… thing-” He made a face. “About controlling shit. I never saw that I did it with the people in my life until everything-”

He made an explosion gesture with his hands.

“So I suppose that’s how I failed her. I tried to control her.”

She made a thoughtful noise. “And what are you doing to change this behaviour now that you’ve identified it?”

“Oh, I still do it.” He laughed nervously; self-deprecatingly. “But I’m trying to trust people. I can’t assume everyone is trying to lie to me because that how I am- was. I’m trying to be more honest with myself.”

“And what about with other people? Are you being honest with them?”

Okay, this was it. The perfect chance to bring it up. He clenched his sweating hands and cleared his throat.

“Not many people in my life anymore other than the people I work with but- uh, yeah- you remember my partner? My ex partner?”

“I do.” Her brows raised slightly in surprise. Fuck, he didn’t want to do this. “What was his name again?”

“Rust. Rustin Cohle,” he said, trying very hard not to smile. She nodded and made a note in the notebook on her lap. “Well, I found him. Actually, I didn’t so much find him as we bumped into each other.”

“Tell me about that.”

“I was at a bar after work. I looked up and there he was.” He picked at a cuticle. “Just when I’d given up on finding him, he appeared.”

“If I recall correctly, you’re last encounter was-”

“It was a bloodbath” Marty gave a self-depreciating chuckle.

“And this time?”

“This time… we talked. Well, first, he yelled at me-” Marty didn’t know if bending him over a sink and mocking him was  _ yelling _ per se but it was as much as he wanted to share at the moment. “And then we talked. We’ve actually been talking… been hanging out…”

_ Yeah, Marty. If by ‘talking’, you mean ‘fucking your brains out’, and by ‘hanging out’ you mean ‘FUCKING YOUR BRAINS OUT’, sure. _

This was the time. He needed to bring it up. This is what he needed help with, but when he opened his mouth, he realised he couldn’t. The thought of confessing it to a third party felt like jinxing a good thing. They were friends. That’s all she needed to know for now. His gut twisted painfully and he realised he was frowning.

“Did you apologise to him? I remember you expressing the desire to the last time you saw me.”

“I did- I tried. I said the words but I’m still not sure if he understood exactly what I was saying.”

“Sounds like an important first step,” she said slowly. “And you say that you’re still talking. In what capacity?”

“That’s the funny thing,” Marty sighed, slumping back in his chair. “We’re… friends now. I mean, we were always friendly, in a way, but all the work and family shit got in the way. Mostly my bullshit… It’s different now. It’s like there’s room for friendship between us now. I don’t know… that sounds stupid.”

“It doesn’t.”

“Found out that he thought I didn’t like him,” Marty chuckled, feeling that painful twisting again. “Not that I blame him. I was hard on him.”

“Seems like you’re hard on everybody, including yourself.”

“No… I’m not- I give myself far too much leeway. Or did. I’m trying to hold myself accountable now. But I won’t argue about being tough on others. Probably part of that controlling thing.”

There was a long silence. She’d stopped writing and was looking at him, her head cocked. He felt like she was looking right into his head. Rust had that same damn look and he hated it.

“Martin,” she said slowly. “I know there have been a few months since we last talked. Has something significant happened in your life?”

“Why’d you say that, doc?” His palms were sweating.

“You were - forgive me - very angry the last time we talked. I don’t sense any of that in you today.”

_ Fuck, she knew _ . He considered just getting it over with, but he found himself already shaking his head. She suspected. She didn’t  _ know _ . He’d tell her when he was ready. He forced a chuckle.

“Just caught me on a good day. Other than the divorce, nothing much. Same-old, same-old. Probably drinking too much, but…” He couldn’t stop himself. It was too big. He couldn’t  _ not _ mention it again. “And Rust.”

“Yes, I remember how your argument and his disappearance weighed on you. It seems like the two of you reconnecting has helped your outlook.”

“Yeah, it has. It really has.”  _ If you only knew, Doc. Not only that, but now I’m pretty sure I’m not straight. Who knew!? _ “Rust… you know, he  _ gets _ me.”

“It’s important to have friends that understand the hardships you’ve gone through.” A single beep came from the direction of her desk. She glanced at her watch. “I’m sorry, Martin. That’s our hour.”

She paused, considering him. 

“I’d like to see you again.” Marty nodded. He agreed. As uncomfortable as these hours were, he felt better knowing he had someone he could literally confess anything to. And he really needed to talk to someone about Rust. “If you’d like, we could set up a regular appointment. This time every week? Or every other week?”

“Every week,” he said, remembering how much had happened over the last couple weeks. Dr. Thompson reached for a small, black book on her desk - her scheduling book, he assumed - and flipped through it.

“Okay, I’ll see you at the same time next week then. In the meantime, I’d like you to think of some concrete ways you’re striving to be more honest.” Marty had forgotten about this: the way she gave him homework of sorts. He grimaced and she smiled at his reaction. “I know it seems silly but it will help you see your progress.”

She stood and held out her hand. Marty did the same, looking her in the eye. He still didn’t like the reflection he saw there.

####  **Wednesday**

Marty felt incredibly out of place among the crowded hometeam stand. Not only did he not really recognise anybody there, it seemed like he was the only person that had come alone. So not only did he feel awkward, he was forced to acknowledge his lack of involvement in Macie’s schooling. When was the last time he’d attended a function; even a parent-teacher conference? He had no idea.

He tried to act like he belonged there. It actually wasn’t too hard. The sounds and smells took him back to his high school years playing ball. The players jogged onto the field, looking small and young, but Marty’s eyes were on the sidelines, searching the uniformed cheerleaders in black and white until he spotted Macie.

She was with a group of girls, stretching and jumping into the air. It didn’t look much different from what the boys on the field were doing. He remembered exactly how it felt before a game - that strange, wonderful mixture of dread and anticipation. It was palpable now, even here in the audience.

At five on the dot, a ref blew his whistle - piercing and drawn out. The crowd cheered. Marty cheered with them. Below him, Macie looked back and scanned the stands. He stood and waved, hollering in excitement and support. Even at this distance, he could see her smile before turning to get in formation for their first routine.

As football games went, it wasn’t all that eventful. But Marty had the best time he’d had in months. At half-time, he jogged down the steps and leaned over the railing to chat with Mace. He didn’t really know how to judge cheerleading but their gymnastics were impressive. Also, there seemed to be more dancing than he remembered from back in his day.

“I’m so glad I got to come,” he told her, raising his voice over the din. She wiped strands of sweaty hair back off her face.

“Me too. How do we look?”

“Great, baby. And a whole lot better than your team.” He pulled a face. They were losing by quite a margin. Macie laughed.

“Yeah, they suck, but still… it’s fun.”

Something tight lodged in his throat. How he ended up with such a daughter, he’d never know. 

“Proud of you, Mace.” The sound of the whistle cut through the noise and she started walking backwards away from him. “Meet me by my car after? I’m parked on the North side.”

“Yeah, okay!” She spun and bounced back to the sideline.

Marty stayed standing at the railing and spent most of the second half watching his girl instead of the game.

When the fuck had she grown up? Last he remembered, she’d been a little girl and now… now she was almost a woman. What else had he missed? Because it wasn’t like he’d blinked and in the moment between his eyes closing and opening, life had passed him by. He’d made the decision to miss out; to focus his attention elsewhere.

He promised himself that he was going to change that going forward.

Feeling inspired, he pulled out his phone and sent a text to Audrey:

_ At your sister’s game. Miss you. _

He didn’t get a response but he didn’t expect one. He wasn’t giving up. At the very least, he could list it as a way he was trying to be honest - and  _ not _ manipulative. At least, he didn’t think it was. He truly missed her but it was okay that she didn’t respond.

####  **Thursday**

Thursday started off rough. Marty’d gotten home late after his dinner with Macie, and then he’d spent a long time thinking about Rust.

_ Ways that I’m trying to be honest with myself _ , he thought for the millionth time since Tuesday.

If he was honest - really honest - he wanted more of Rust. Not just sex, but time and attention; he wanted... His mind shied away from the thought because what he wanted sounded a lot like a  _ relationship _ more than a friendship. So he tucked that thought away to be discussed with Dr. Thompson. Marty wasn’t sure he was capable, let along ready, for shit like that. Not to mention, it didn’t seem like something Rust wanted.

Hopefully, she’d tell him that he was just clinging to something secure and jumping to conclusions about a non-conventional friendship; or that maybe he was projecting shit onto Rust. God knew he’d done it before.

In the end, he’d spent most of the night tossing and turning rather than sleeping, which meant he sleepwalked through most of his day. He was distracted; couldn’t wait to leave at the end of the day.

\---

Rust hadn’t been kidding about the bar being dead on Thursday evenings. There were only two other cars in the lot. When Marty walked in, he felt very conspicuous and paused just inside the door. He much preferred the press of the crowd. He felt like he had  _ I’m fucking the bartender _ tattooed across his forehead.

Speaking of the bartender, Rust appeared from the back hall carrying two cases of beer. His view was obstructed so he didn’t notice Marty right away. His attention was focused on restocking the coolers behind the bar. 

He looked different than usual - relaxed and calm. It was a good look on him, Marty decided. He watched and let his fondness for Rust fill him.

Another thing that Marty had to be honest about is that he wanted to kiss the shit out of this man.

Then Rust looked up and a smooth, easy smile spread across his face. It was completely unstudied and Marty’s breath caught in his throat. God, he was pretty. Marty walked as casually as he could to the bar, like he’d just come in, instead of creepily watching Rust for the last few minutes.

“Hey, stranger,” he said. He couldn’t help the goofy smile that spread across his face. “Want some help?”

“Sure,” Rust answered. He gestured for Marty to follow him, already walking back towards the hall.

One of the doors was open, revealing a storage room. Marty wondered if he could get away with closing Rust and him in it for a while.

As soon as they were both inside, Marty plucked at the back of Rust’s shirt, causing him to turn. Then he crowded close, planting a hand high on Rust’s chest. Rust’s eyes went wide. He was going to do it. He was going to kiss Rust. His heart skittered madly.

“Marty-”Rust warned, his tone arresting his momentum. They stood in the middle of the storeroom, a single bare bulb burned above them on a cord.

“Let me kiss you, Rust,” he pleaded, eyes darting from Rust’s eyes to his lips. Rust’s hands touched Marty’s hips briefly, then his elbows, his shoulders. There was caution in Rust’s face but care in the way he dragged his fingers from point to point on Marty’s body. They came to rest cupping Marty’s face, and for a moment Marty thought Rust was going to draw him in. He closed his eyes. “Please…”

Then Rust was slipping sideways away from him and picking up a box.

“Grab this one,” he said, kicking an identical box. Marty was left behind, feeling deflated and confused, but he did as Rust wished.

Rust didn’t look at him when he set the beer on the bar.

“Rust-”

“I told you I wasn’t interested in any histrionics, Hart,” Rust said under his breath, even though there was nobody to overhear. It was clear that Rust didn’t want a scene, yet expected one anyway.

Six months ago, Marty would have lashed out at the rejection, but now? Marty wasn’t going to make a scene. He just nodded.

“I’m sorry, Rust.” He didn’t even know what he was apologising for but he’d obviously crossed a line. All those times Rust had been reluctant to kiss him came back to him now. “Let’s just forget about it.”

“You don’t want to kiss me, Marty.” Rust looked at him then, frowning. He sounded so certain that Marty nearly believed him.

Except that he  _ did _ . Marty wanted to kiss Rust so badly that he could only agree with what Rust was saying, because if he upset this precarious balance they’d created, he could lose far more than he was willing to risk. He nodded.

“Okay. Yeah.”

Rust pointed at the box Marty had carried up front and Marty obligingly pushed it over to him. Rust finished filling up the cooler. The tension that had followed them from the storeroom hung between them until Rust quirked a smile at Marty.

“Wanna sample some more of those microbrews?”

Marty did but he was reluctant, because he didn’t want to have to crash with Rust again. He was pretty certain that if he stayed and drank with Rust, they’d end up in bed together. He wanted that, but at the same time, he was confused. All of this was… too confusing.

“Maybe some other time?” he said with a forced smile. He could see Rust knew that he was bullshiting. Hell, it was suddenly painfully clear to Marty that they were both bullshitting.

_ Friends _ …

Rust leaned against the bar and studied him. Marty could feel the other shoe coming to crush him.

And then it didn’t.

“Want to do something this weekend?” Rust asked. “A movie?”

Marty gaped, but managed to pull it together enough to joke. “Not Shoah.”

Rust laughed in a way that hurt Marty but he swallowed the hurt.

“Okay, Marty. If you insist.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Dancing on Glass by St Lucia
> 
> I didn't mean to picture anyone while writing Dr. Thompson but she turned into Viola Davis in my head so do with that what you will.


	7. Not Sure I Should Show You What I Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Friends and lovers. Marty could do this. Right?

###  **Week Four**

####  **Friday &Saturday**

Friday paradoxically managed to both fly by and drag at the same time. It flew by because Marty was fucking  _ busy _ . It dragged because he couldn’t stop checking his phone. He thought he would hear from Rust sometime so that they could make plans for a movie.

There was nothing but silence from the man and Marty couldn’t bring himself to reach out. He was still stinging from Thursday’s rejection.

Marty told himself that it didn’t matter. That things were good between them. Even if they didn’t hang out this weekend, they would soon. He tried to ignore that he was really, very, distractedly horny. Horny because he was hurt and  _ so fucking confused _ that he hadn’t been able to take the edge off for days.

Rust had made it fairly clear that it was just sex and that the friendship was a separate thing. Marty was finally starting to get it. Rust didn’t want overlap and so Marty found himself trying to uncouple the two in his mind just when he’d admitted to himself that what he wanted  _ was _ that overlap.

But this was the New Marty. The New and Improved and Definitely Not Going To Push Things Marty.

By the time Saturday evening rolled around, he had resigned himself to a night in with his Netflix rentals. He had three of the envelopes waiting for him on top of his television. He’d order a pizza, have a few beers…

And probably end up in shower with his fingers buried inside himself. This was his life now. More than he’d expected. Different than he’d expected. And so much less than he wanted. He needed to find a way to be happy with that. He’d been doing this for months now - well, the alone-on-a-Saturday-night thing, not the imagining-himself-getting-fucked-by-his-ex-partner part… You’d think being pseudo-stood up wouldn’t be that big of a deal since he had his routine.

But everything where Rust was concerned was a big deal for Marty now.

He was just scrolling down through his call history to place an order when there was a knock on his door. He walked to the entryway and hesitated. Maybe he’d heard someone knocking for a neighbour, because no one ever visited him.

The knock came again. He looked through the peephole. It was Rust. He opened the door, a confused grin spreading over his face out of his control.

“What the fuck you doin’ here?” he asked and then frowned. “And how the fuck do you know where I live?”

“Said I’d see you this weekend.” Rust raised an eyebrow, like Marty was an idiot. “And really, Marty? You’re not hard to find.”

He held up a case of beer - cheap shit; Lone Stars - and his face softened slightly. “So… you gonna invite me in?”

“Yeah, sure. Come on in.” He stepped back and Rust sidled by, close enough for Marty to smell him. Even that small thing - the smell of Rust’s shampoo and skin - had him buzzing like a fucking addict. He locked up and followed Rust back to the living room. “I was about to order a pizza.”

“Sounds good.”

“What do you like?” He snagged the DVD envelopes off the TV.

“Whatever.” Rust sat the beer on the coffee table, tearing into the case. He handed Marty a can. Marty traded the films for the drink. Again, this - something new and never experienced - felt so natural with Rust. If Marty could just relax and go with the flow, things would be fine.

“Pick one,” Marty said, hitting dial on his phone. He placed an order for a large hamburger pizza, ignoring the face Rust made.

“You have the culinary taste of a twelve-year-old.” Rust declared when he hung up.

“You had your chance. Now you’re stuck.” Rust huffed in protest, still looking at the DVDs. “So what are we watching?”

“I’m not sensing much variety in your viewing habits.” A spike of embarrassment shot through Marty. He knew all three of the films were war movies.

“Well… Blockbuster is just down the street. We could-”

“Relax, Marty.  _ The Great Escape _ is good.” He handed over the rejects and Marty tossed them carelessly onto the coffee table.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, who doesn’t like comedic POW camps?”

“Asshole,” Marty chuckled, tossing his phone on the side table and popping open his beer. The beer joined his phone, claiming one side of the couch; his usual spot. “Put it in. I’ll be right back.”

Marty slipped through his bedroom and into the bathroom. He needed a moment. His heart was pounding far more than the situation warranted. They were supposed to be hanging out. Marty had no right to expect anything more. He looked at himself hard in the mirror and nervously straightened his hair.

“What are you doing?” he muttered to himself.

Rust wanted separation and this was a friend thing, hanging out. So it probably wouldn’t lead to sex. Probably. However, Rust  _ had  _ showed up out of the blue. He’d said earlier this week they’d hang out but… this felt a lot like a booty call to Marty.

_ Fuck. _

Marty leaned on his vanity and looked himself in the eye. He wouldn’t try anything. He would be happy to watch a movie and eat pizza with his friend.

Then, just to be on the safe side, he grabbed a condom and another packet of lube out of the medicine cabinet, and shoved them in his pocket. He didn’t want to be caught off guard if Rust decided tonight wasn’t just a friendly hang out. At this rate, he’d need to restock soon. 

When he closed the door of the cabinet, he caught a glimpse of the expression on his face. He looked damn happy. He  _ was _ happy in a tentative, strange way.

When he came back out to the living room, the lights had been turned off and Rust had made himself comfortable on the opposite side of the couch. Marty paused in the doorway, because he’d missed something important at the front door: Rust looked good. Really fucking good.

The last few times they’d seen each other, he’d been in clothing that could have been found in a second hand shop discount bin, but now… He looked like his old self - severe and handsome as ever. He’d cleaned himself up. Marty was flattered and a little flustered because he was in his lounging clothes - worn jeans and an old band tee. Oh well, he was used to feeling unattractive when he compared himself to Rust. Rust didn’t seem to ever mind.

“You’re staring again,” Rust said without taking his eyes of the television. “Movie’s starting.”

Marty walked over and plopped himself down next to Rust. On the screen, the opening credits were playing over shots of the German countryside. The theme music made him immediately nostalgic.

“I love this film,” Rust said, crossing his legs. Marty turned to him, bending his knee to sit sideways on the couch. Rust shot him a look. “Don’t look so surprised. I grew up watching these old classics.”

“Donno, hard to wrap my head around you having… you know, favourite movies. Hard to imagine you even watching movies… or being a child, for that matter.” Marty looked back at the screen, but stayed with his body turned towards Rust. “Feels like something I should know.”

“You never asked,” Rust answered simply. Marty wasn’t going to feel guilty for something he couldn’t change.

He still felt guilty.

“Well, I wanna know those things now,” he said, twisting to grab his beer.

They watched the film and drank in silence until the pizza arrived. Rust paused it while Marty hurried to the door to pay the delivery person. He grabbed plates from the kitchen on the way back and slid back next to Rust - maybe a little closer this time. He was a few beers in and feeling confident.

He still wasn’t trying anything.

“Here.” He served two slices onto Rust’s plate. He wanted to add more - the man was so thin - but figured Rust would immediately realise what he was doing. He handed the plate to Rust.

“Thanks.” Rust played the movie again. On the screen, Hilts was hatching his ambitious plan with Ives. Marty had just bitten into his first slice when Rust mused, “I think Steve McQueen was my first.”

Marty nearly choked on his food.

“First? First what?” he sputtered even though he knew. He drained the rest of his beer.

“First guy I wanted to fuck.” He looked over at Marty with a peculiar look in his eye. “I watched nothing but McQueen movies for a whole summer up in Alaska.”

Marty wasn’t sure what to say to that. He’d never had a friend that he talked about things like this with, but then again, he’d just barely admitted this shit to  _ himself _ . He reached for another beer. It wasn’t until he opened it that he realised: this was Rust letting him in. He cocked his head at the other man.

“You know, there’s something McQueen-esque about you.” It wasn’t flattery either. Rust had the same balance of tough but vulnerable. Although Rust was sharper than McQueen could ever hope to be; his beauty was cutting rather than approachable.

Rust took a quick swig. “Thirteen-year-old me would’ve loved to hear that.”

“Thirteen-year-old me was madly in love with Anne Margaret,” Marty said with a sigh.

“ _ Bye-Bye, Birdie _ ?” Rust asked.

“Ooooh yeah,” Marty answered as Rust nodded in agreement. He hesitated for a moment. Rust hadn’t been asking the question Marty had answered. He cleared his throat. “I… Uhm, I never wanted to- with a man- well, a celebrity.”

“No shit, Marty,” Rust huffed. He grabbed another beer. He was already one ahead of Marty.

“Fooled around with a few guys… back in college but I didn’t- more of a situational thing. I didn’t  _ want _ them.” Marty looked at Rust. Was it worth pressing the issue? It was fucking confusing to be told  _ no _ and then have Rust say things like… this. He downed the entirety of his beer in one, long pull, then forced the confession out. “Just you.”

“We don’t have to do this,” Rust said, eyes straight forward, like he hadn’t started it.

“I know. But I saw my therapist this week-” Rust glanced at him, brow quirked. “Shut up. Yes, I see a therapist - and I’m okay with this.”

He gestured between Rust and himself. Rust gave up all pretense of watching the film and turned, mirroring Marty.

“Am I supposed to feel special?” It was almost an accusation, his voice low and flat.

“No… Fuck, that’s not what I meant by-” Marty snagged Rust’s beer right out of his hand and drained that one too. He was acutely aware he was blushing. “What I’m trying to say is I’ve been attracted- to men, I mean… but never wanted-”

“Shit, this isn’t coming out right.” Marty turned and set the empty can on the coffee table. He scrubbed his palms over his face. It was a little easier to think like this, when he didn’t have to look at Rust so he stayed like that. “I didn’t want to…  _ want  _ men so it was easy to ignore. You’re not easy to ignore, Rust.”

Beside him, Rust suddenly moved. Marty looked up from his hands to find Rust kneeling on the floor in front of him. He crowded into Marty’s space. Surprised, Marty leaned back. Rust’s hands spread Marty’s legs, slipping closer. He wasn’t looking at Marty. He was looking at his hands, which were gripping Marty’s knees. 

“Rust?” Marty breathed out, barely daring to hope.

Rust’s hands rubbed from Marty’s knees up… up… His thumbs met at the join of Marty’s legs and swiped up and over Marty’s already-hardening cock. 

“ _ Jesus… _ ” Apparently Rust was trying to drive Marty insane. Maybe that’d been his plan all along. Marty was okay with that.

“When’s the last time you were tested?” Rust asked, hands making quick work of the button and fly on Marty’s jeans.

Marty arched to help Rust get his pants down. He didn’t stop at gaining access, like their previous times like this; all urgency and haste. He pulled the jeans all the way off with quick, efficient tugs.

“Ah- I… after that shit with Beth,” he panted, well on his way to being hard but still thrown by the suddenness of this development.

“Anyone since?” Marty shook his head.

“Just you,” Marty mumbled, catching Rust’s eye. Rust made an sound and touched his forehead to Marty’s thigh. His hands gripped Marty’s knees, keeping them spread wide.

“Same,” his muttered, his voice muffled. “Laurie. Got tested when we started dating, but… nothing since then. No needles either.”

Rust’s breath was fast and warm on Marty’s leg, so close to where he wanted it. But Marty felt out the tenderness that last admission tugged in him; something akin to pride filling his heart. It was warm and possessive and surprising. Rust could have anyone he wanted.

“Rust…” Marty touched the back of Rust’s head, pushing his fingers through his cropped hair.

“Marty… I really want to fuck you.” Rust looked up at him, tone plaintive. “Please, let me fuck you.”

“Yes.” Marty was nodding. He pointed at his discarded jeans. “Pocket. Please.  _ God _ .”

But Rust didn’t go for the jeans, he leaned forward, dragging his lips along the inside of Marty’s leg. Marty gasped at the shiver that shook up his spine. He wanted to lean back and close his eyes, but he didn’t dare miss this.

Rust skimmed a hand up his other thigh and wrapped it around Marty’s cock. Rust’s breath ghosted over him and then he slowly licked up Marty’s erection. He kept eye contact with Marty as he did it. Something guterral and strangled tore from Marty’s throat. His fingers tightened in Rust’s hair, probably painfully. Rust moaned, eyes fluttering shut as he took Marty into his mouth.

He’d barely started and it was already the best fucking head Marty had ever had. Rust was good at this.  _ Too _ fucking good. He could feel the tension already building as Rust bobbed his head, eyes closed, lips tight around Marty’s cock. His thighs flexed, toes curled.  _ Oh fuck…  _

“ _ Jesus Christ _ , Rust… I’m not gonna last-” Marty tugged on his hair again. Rust pulled off lazily with a pop and gave him a single, slow pump. His lips were wet and obscene. His eyes were hooded. Marty didn’t think he’d ever seen anything so sinful. “Haven’t come in days. You need to fuck me right the fuck now.”

“You sure?”

“Rust,” he growled in warning. He was a second away from hauling the man close by the hair and kissing him, consequences be damned. That earned him a wicked grin, but then Rust moved back. He reached for Marty’s jeans.

Marty got to see Rust tear the packet of lube open with his teeth this time. He couldn’t help the way his dick twitched in approval against his stomach. Rust smiled at him, packet still gripped in his teeth. He grabbed ahold of Marty’s hips and dragged him to the edge of the couch, until his ass was barely on the cushion.

“Fuck me, that’s hot,” Marty whispered, even as his back protested at the awkward curve of his spine in this position. He added  _ Being manhandled _ to his new, growing list of turn ons, right underneath  _ Rust _ and  _ Having a dick in my ass _ .

“Plan on it,” Rust muttered around the foil clamped in his teeth, voice rough and gravelly. He held the condom up and quirked an eyebrow in question. He was leaving it up to Marty. Marty wanted to feel him; as much of him as Rust would allow. He wanted the trust Rust had in him.

Marty pushed himself upright and reached for Rust’s pants. He could feel Rust’s eyes on him the entire time and his hands shook - not from nerves but from need. He freed Rust and stroked him experimentally. He’d been robbed of this in their previous fucks and he wanted to take his time. He wanted to discover exactly how Rust liked to be touched.  _ Next time _ , he promised himself, now that he was pretty sure there would be a next time. 

He let go and worked Rust’s jeans down with a shimmying movement, thumbs tucked into the waistband. Feeling bold, he slid his hands back and grabbed Rust’s ass.  _ God, that’s a  _ good _ ass. _ This brought their faces close, sharing each other’s panting breaths. Marty looked Rust in the eye and pulled him in so that they could thrust against each other. Rust yanked the packet out from between his teeth and squeezed it into his hand.

“You,” Marty whispered, barely able to form a coherent sentence. “I need- need you now.”

Rust slicked himself up, hand grazing the inside of Marty’s thighs, then Marty was pulling him in again. Rust’s free hand pressed to Marty’s chest, pushing him back down onto the couch. He had to let go his grip on Rust. He fisted his hands in the front of Rust’s shirt instead, dragging him closer. He wanted him so much closer.

Rust guided his cock against Marty’s hole and any semblance of restraint Marty had broke. He whined and wrapped his legs around Rust’s waist, tipping his hips. Rust pushed into him in a single thrust; nearly falling on top of Marty. He leaned hard on Marty’s chest. His hand was wrapped tight around a hip. It all hurt in the best way possible.

“Fuck, Marty, you’re so tight,” Rust groaned. “Am I hurting you?”

Marty squeezed Rust against him with his legs and rocked. He was breathing too hard to speak. Rust moaned. Seeing him like this - already sweaty and unfocused; pupils blown and breathing uneven - was everything.

Marty gripped at Rust’s shirt.  _ Off _ , was all he could think, but couldn’t figure out how to unfasten so many buttons. Rust helped him, tugging the shirt and tank off in one graceful motion. Marty stared openly. He’d seen Rust’s body so many times over the years, but never like this; never aroused by Marty and not just close, but inside him. His palms itched to touch, but he gripped the edge of the couch cushion instead. He had been allowed this and it was so much more than he ever thought he’d get. He didn't want to push his luck.

Rust was looking down at him hungrily, pressing his hips in small, furtive thrusts; all that Marty’s clamped legs would allow. Marty let his legs unlock and fall open. Rust caught one leg, hooking a hand behind Marty's knee and lifting it. Then he pulled out and slammed backed in, hard and smooth. Marty arched his back, eyes closing with a breathy little moan that he would normally feel self conscious about. He didn’t have the brain power for that at the moment.

“ _ Baby _ …” Rust whispered and leaned over him. He wrapped his free arm around Marty’s back, underneath his tee shirt, leaving trails of cold fire on Marty’s skin. He held Marty tight and fucked into him. His face was tucked against Marty’s chest, Marty’s cock trapped between them. 

Marty was going to come. It was all too fast, but he couldn’t hold back. He didn’t want to hold back.

His hands flew to grip at Rust’s shoulders, as if they could get any closer. He thought about cupping Rust’s head and pulling him up to kiss him, but all he could do was curl towards Rust. He buried his face in Rust’s hair and came with a shout.

“ _ Fuck! _ ” Marty felt Rust pulse inside him, hips stuttering. Marty met his thrusts as best as he could, milking the orgasm for all it was worth. 

Rust collapsed on top of him. He was heavy and the solidity of him weakened Marty. Marty let himself touch Rust. He let his hands move over Rust’s sweaty back. He carded his fingers up into his damp hair. He trailed his knuckles along the side of Rust’s face, wishing he’d look up at him.

Marty’s chest was tight and for a second he thought he might cry again.  _ For fuck’s sake,  _ he berated himself, looking up at the ceiling.

“Is it just me,” he ventured with a shaky a voice. “Or was that really…”

“Yeah…” Rust panted into his chest. He’d breathed a damp spot onto Marty’s shirt over his heart. “S’not just you.”

Marty cupped the back of Rust’s head and the man nuzzled up to Marty's neck. His cock slipped out and Marty winced. It stung a little, but it was the strange sensation of dampness trickling out of him that was far more distracting. Rust pulled back to look at Marty and Marty’s heart stuttered.

_ I have no right to ask for more but please, Rust. Please. _

“Ask me to stay the night, Marty,” Rust whispered.

“Stay,” Marty whispered back.

Rust stayed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Fireside by Arctic Monkeys.
> 
> This is one of my favourite chapters so I hope you enjoy. <3


	8. And You'll Fear What You Found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rust was good at surprising Marty

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Updating schedule, idk her. Still TRYING to get this up before November but work isn't cooperating.

####  **Saturday &Sunday**

Marty couldn’t sleep. His brain wouldn’t stop replaying what had happened before bed.

Rust had pulled him to his feet from the couch and helped him remove his shirt. Marty used it to wipe the come from his stomach. Rust took it from him and finished the job; his hands gentle and lingering.

Hell, it’d have been romantic if he didn’t have Rust’s come dribbling down his leg. Rust must have seen the blush spreading over his chest, because he chuckled and spun Marty towards the bedroom with a push.

 _Go shower_ , he’d said softly.

Marty stumbled his way to the bathroom with a bare minimum of dignity. He’d wanted to ask Rust to join him, like they had at Rust’s. He wanted to still be pressed close to Rust. He wanted… so many things he couldn’t have.

Instead, he turned his thoughts to where he'd stored his blankets so he could make up the couch for Rust.

After the shower, he’d emerged to find Rust already in his bed.

And that was why Marty couldn’t sleep.

Because Rust was snoring gently on the other side of the bed - the side that used to be Maggie’s - and having him there felt right. He’d promised Rust that he wasn’t going to freak out and he wasn’t - he _wasn’t_ \- freaking out; not about the things he thought he’d be freaking out about.

He was fine that he was having semi-regular, mind-blowing sex with a man.

He was fine that the man was Rust, of all people.

The fact that he was so fine with everything was kind of freaking him out, but only a little bit.

The worst of it was the Rust of it all.

He rolled onto his side and looked at the man’s profile in the dim light. Marty had to admit it. This wasn’t just sex. This wasn’t friendship either. Marty wanted to close the distance between them and wrap his arms around Rust. He wanted to wake up to Rust in the morning. He wanted to have Rust back in his life again with all the annoying things that would bring.

Most of all, Marty wanted to kiss Rust.

Marty felt he might die if he didn’t kiss Rust.

So in point of fact, Marty was definitely _not_ fine.

Because at the end of the day, that wasn’t what Rust wanted. He’d made it very clear that kissing was off the table.

 _Don’t make this something it’s not_.

_I said I don’t want any histrionics._

So Marty wouldn’t. He couldn’t.

Not if he wanted to be a better man than he’d been before, and Marty desperately wanted to be a better man.

For Rust. For himself. For his girls.

It took hours for him to drift off and when he did, he dreamed of Rust - par for the course as of late - but this dream was different. He dreamed of Rust tucking in close to him in his sleep, but when Marty reached to hold onto him, Rust pushed away from him with a cruel laugh and cold eyes that pitied him. Marty awoke in the late morning with his heart pounding and his bed empty. He reached for his cellphone on the bedside table.

_[1 MESSAGE]_

_had to work a shift didnt want to wake you_

It’d been sent hours ago, around nine. That was it. That was all he got after what seemed to him, a life-changing night. Marty let the phone drop back on the table and rolled to face the empty side of the bed.

Could he do this? Could he _really_ do this?

Marty didn’t think he could.

He dragged himself out of bed and tried not to think about it.

####  **Sunday**

Marty managed not to think about it for all of Sunday. He did every single chore that he’d been putting off; anything to keep his mind busy. He didn’t check his phone until the end of the day. There was still only that single message.

Marty didn’t answer it. He didn’t know what to say. What he could say seemed insufficient and what he wanted to say was out of bounds so he remained silent.

Thank God he had Macie on Wednesday, because otherwise he didn't know how he was going to make it through the week.

####  **Monday**

Monday, he was finally assigned a new case. A DB had been found in a construction site. All it took to make an ID was to walk the nearby neighbourhood. It wasn’t a difficult case. The deceased had recently broken up with her boyfriend. Marty was pretty sure he’d done it, but he’d disappeared into the wind. For now, Marty had a list of KAs that he would follow up with on Tuesday.

####  **Tuesday**

He got an early start on Tuesday, tracking down the DB’s and suspect's associates. No one seemed to know exactly where he was, but he got a short list of possibilities from friends with less-than-savoury reputations.

He dragged himself into the precinct a little before noon, far more exhausted than he’d ever been when he’d had a partner. _Fuck_ … That just made him think about Rust. _God-fucking-dammit._ Two days had allowed him to build his fear into anger. It didn’t have much of a head yet, but anger was easier to deal with. He could carry around anger inside himself far longer than fear.

“Uhm, Hart?” Jenkins asked. Marty looked up from where he’d been staring at his hands spread on his desk. “Do you know that Cohle’s outside? Should I tell Salter?”

Marty grabbed his phone and looked at it.

_[1 MESSAGE]_

_lunch? youre buying_

It was time stamped just a few minutes earlier. Irritation bubbled up inside him.

“No. No, it’s fine. Actually, just- don’t mention it to the Major, okay?” Jenkins gave him a look that told Marty that Salter would know within the hour.

As calmly as he could, he stood, put on his jacket, and made his way to the parking lot. Rust was sitting on the tailgate of his truck, waiting for him.

“Bit of deja veux, huh?” he said with a smile, but Marty frowned, coming to a stop a few feet away from him.

“What are you doing here, Rust?” He knew he couldn’t get mad for Rust being here. Sure, it wasn’t the same as Marty showing up at the bar, but it was damn close in terms of repercussions.

Rust swung his legs and cleared his throat. “Been meaning to text. Didn’t sit right with me… how I left things on Sunday.”

Marty cast a glance over his shoulder. Sure enough, there were officers not-so-subtly watching them, probably hoping for another fight. He was pretty sure there was going to be; nothing near as spectacular as last time, but he feared it may be far more devastating.

“So you wanna talk?” Marty came closer. He could feel himself softening with each step he took towards Rust, taking in the little signs that Rust was as tense as he was: dark circles under his eyes, shoulders tight.

“Yup.” They were eye-to-eye like this. The image of closing the distance between them, stepping between Rust’s knees, and kissing him popped into his head.

Rust shifted, legs spreading slightly as if he was having similar thoughts.  Marty wondered if he could swing a quickie in the evidence room. Probably not, even if it was a nice thought.

“Okay. But not here.” He took Rust’s elbow and pulled him down. Close. Too close. He stepped back. “Since I’m buying, you’re driving.”

“Fine, but then I get to choose the restaurant.”

Marty rolled his eyes and sighed as he went around to the passenger’s door. It was comfortable: how easily they slipped back into this sort of bickering.

“Nothing weird,” he stipulated.

 _Nothing weird_ turned out to be a grubby-looking hole-in-the-wall just a few blocks from the station. He’d never even noticed the place. Marty leaned forward and squinted out the windscreen at the faded sign.

“Rosita’s?” He didn’t like the look of the place.

“Mexican- _real_ Mexican. None of that TexMex shit,” Rust said, already closing the truck door. Marty trailed after him.

“I _like_ TexMex.”

“You’ll like _this_.”

The hostess - who also turned out to be their waitress and Marty suspected, the eponymous owner - recognised Rust on sight and Marty got to stand there, wide-eyed and awkward, as they chatted in Spanish. Rust turned the charm on for her too, grinning and laughing in a way that turned him from attractive to downright head-turning. Marty couldn’t even tell if it was an act or genuine. Rust certainly never acted like that with him.

But then he had to check himself, because Rust _did_ act like that with him now. Some times.

When they were finally seated, Marty leaned over the small table and lowered his voice. “I didn’t know you spoke Spanish.”

Rust shoved a menu into his hands, giving him the patented _you’re an idiot_ look. “Marty, I worked H-I-D-T-A along the border.”

Rust was right. Marty should have assumed, but still, it shocked him that he’d never heard Rust speak it in their line of work.

“Have any other secret languages up your sleeve?” he asked out of curiosity while looking over the menu, which was _also_ in Spanish with badly translated English in a small font underneath each listing.

“Secret? No. Fluently? Just Spanish and French.” Rust had his chin propped on his fist. He wasn’t looking at the menu. He was focused on Marty and Marty was steadfastly ignoring that fact.

“Know what you’re gonna order?” Marty didn’t recognise half of what was available and was starting to feel uncultured. “And excuse me? _Fluently?_ You speak other languages… not… fluently?”

“I always get the same thing here,” Rust said, laughing. “And yes. I speak a little Russian and know more Latin than I’d care to admit. More, if you want me to list the ones I can insult you in… or speak dirty to you in.”

Marty laid the laminated sheet down and stared, swallowing hard. He ignored that last part. “Colour me impressed.”

“Not hard to do when you barely have a handle on your own native tongue.” Rust said it lightly and Marty was already flipping him off when he realised that Rust was… flirting.

“Told you I’m no good with words.” He slid the menu across the table to cover how flustered he suddenly felt. “I don’t know what to order. You choose.”

This had been a tradition with them. Every time Rust dragged them to an ethnic roadside food truck or out-of-the-way locale, Marty would let him order for the both of them. Not once had Marty regretted it. For a kid raised in Alaska, Rust had a rather sophisticated and worldly pallet.

But this time, it felt different. And it wasn’t until Rust was chatting with their waitress again in quiet Spanish, that it hit Marty: This felt like a date.

This wasn’t the two of them finding a spare few minutes to shovel food into their mouths. Rust had surprised Marty at work. He’d driven them to a place he thought Marty would like. Marty felt his worldview shift, very drastically and suddenly. He didn’t know why he was surprised by it. It shouldn’t be an epiphany.

He looked at Rust’s smiling face as he ordered. _Holy shit_. The feeling that had been looming on the periphery of his mind suddenly came into focus: he was falling in love with Rust.

Or… he was already in love? When the fuck had that happened? He wasn’t exactly sure but this wasn’t just wanting to kiss Rust. This was definitely love.

Rust turned back to him, looking handsome and happy, and Marty’s chest tightened. _Fuckfuckfuck_ . He couldn’t do this. He definitely couldn’t do _this_. With his heart in his throat, Marty tried to return the smile.

“So… what’d you order me?” His voice sounded stilted and strained to his ears. “Pretty sure I heard ‘chicken’ in there somewhere which is promising.”

“ _Pollo en mole poblano_ as the safe bet for you.” Marty made a doubtful noise, while inside his heart clenched at the way the Spanish language rolled off Rust’s tongue. “And _papadzules_ for me. Rosita’s are the best I’ve had. You’ll have to try them.”

Rust tucked the menus back into their holder, then crossed his arms and leaned on the edge of the table. Marty wanted to squirm with the way Rust was looking at him. Honestly, he wanted to run from the restaurant and never look back. He was officially and finally freaking out. And still Rust was staring, his face growing somber.

“I think we need to talk about what happened,” he finally said, his shoulders visibly tightening.

“Sunday? Or…?” Marty felt thrown. So much had happened between them that they probably needed to talk about.

“Yes. That- but I think we should start with six months ago and work our way from there.” Something shaded and hurt passed over Rust’s face like a cloud.

“Rust…” Marty shook his head. “I honestly don’t want to- ugh, I don’t want to know what happened. Okay?”

Marty _had_ wanted to know at one point, back when his pride was smarting and he was left feeling hurt by both the people he’d trusted most in the world. Back then he’d just been looking for more ammo to use against them, but since then he’d let it go. Across from him, Rust’s mouth thinned.

“Do you think that maybe I need to talk about it?” Rust asked in a dead voice. The question hit Marty like a slap and he sat back as if actually struck. “Do you realise that I had a grand total of two friends in my life?”

Marty had to look away, feeling despicable and small.

“I was high as fucking kite and drinking and… feeling pathetically sorry for myself after the suspension and so fucking _angry_ at you for- I’m not trying to excuse what I did. I can never-” Rust’s face twisted into intense self-loathing. “I never even _wanted_ Maggie like that, but I trusted her. I _trusted_ her. Marty, do you-”

Rust was leaning towards him, gaze darting back and forth between Marty’s eyes as if willing Marty to understand. Marty felt sick. He remembered how he’d just shrugged as Rust was suspended because- Marty couldn’t even remember why. Pride, probably. He’d been too far up his own ass; too busy tearing his own life apart from the inside to realise that it was already crumbling down around him.

And then he’d taken it all out on this man. Who probably deserved the least blame, if any. What the fuck was Marty doing, getting close to Rust again? Rust didn’t deserve this shit.

There was a rushing in Marty’s ears as shame coursed through him. He could barely bear to look at Rust but he couldn’t look away because he didn’t want to look anywhere else.

Marty pushed back from the table and stumbled out into the intense, midday sun. He couldn’t breathe. He trailed his hand along the brick of the building and hurried around the corner to an alleyway. Behind him, he could hear Rust following him.

“Marty.” Rust put a hand on his shoulder and Marty turned, reaching to push Rust away; reaching to pull him closer. “Hey- Marty, hey… it’s okay.”

Marty backed himself up against the building, pressing his palms flat against the cool brick. Rust held up his hands.

 _Get away from me_ , he wanted to tell Rust. _Save yourself._

“Just breathe, Marty. I think you’re having a panic attack.” _No shit, Sherlock_ , Marty thought, but all he could do was lean and shake.

But then Rust stepped closer and brushed a hand over his cheek.

“Okay?”

Marty nodded and Rust let the hand settle there, thumb brushing his cheekbone. Marty turned his face into Rust’s palm. He moved closer.

“I’m going to hug you,” Rust muttered and then he was, arm slipping around the small of Marty’s back. The hand on his cheek slid to cup the back of Marty’s head, and Marty felt himself collapse into Rust, burying his face in Rust’s neck. He clutched at the back of Rust’s shirt and hung on for dear life. “I’m sorry about that, Marty. I know it was selfish but I-”

Marty shook his head. He didn’t want Rust to apologise. He didn’t need Rust to apologise. He just needed Rust to stay like this; just for a bit longer.

He was breathing hard into Rust’s shoulder. Rust’s fingers moved soothingly in Marty’s hair. He relaxed in slow degrees, becoming aware of how close they were, and of course, that’s when his body realised it too. Rust chuckled and shifted a thigh against Marty’s quickly growing erection.

“Guess I should be flattered.” Rust pulled back a little, quickly looking both ways down the alleyway. They were tucked in a corner, shielded by a dumpster. Marty could see Rust’s intention even has his hands slid to Marty’s belt. Marty pushed him away. It was too confusing for him; to want and have no control over any of this. He ignored the flash of confused hurt on Rust’s face and walked back the way they’d come.

“I got to be getting back.” It was a lame excuse but this was just… too much. He was so fucking angry at himself and at this goddamn situation he’d gotten himself into.

“Hey!” Rust called after him, jogging to keep up. “What the fuck, Marty?”

“I have to-” Rust caught him by the arm. It wasn’t gentle this time.

“Don’t give me that shit. I don’t want to-”

Marty looked at him hard. He considered going back into the restaurant and talking it out. He considered how it would feel to see Rust’s look of sympathy as he rejected Marty. That’s what he should do.

“Frustrating when someone’s hot and cold, isn’t it?” he snapped, then spun away. Rust didn’t follow him this time.

It only took a block and a half before Marty was filled with regret and dread at the grave he’d dug himself. He considered going back, but at the moment, it would be useless. He wasn’t prepared to have the conversation they needed to have.

So he stopped and fished his phone out of his pocket and called Rust’s cell. He picked up after the first ring.

_“Give me one reason not to hang up on you, Marty.”_

“I’m sorry?” Marty said with such uncertainty that it came out as more a question than a statement. “I mean… Shit. I’m not good at this.”

There was a silence only punctuated by Rust’s breathing.

 _“I think that makes two of us,”_ he answered softly.

“I think we have more shit to work through than I thought.” Marty started walking towards the station again.

_“Are you referring to your euphemism for us fucking or do you actually want to try and talk this out? Preferably without you running away from me this time.”_

Marty thought about it for a few steps, wondering if he could get away with being cheeky, then whispered, “Both? I think somewhere less public next time.”

Rust laughed and Marty had to close his mouth around the words that wanted to spill out.

_“I have no idea why I like you, but I hope I never figure it out. Hey, are you almost back at the precinct?”_

“Yeah,” Marty said, rounding the corner onto the street the station was on, and there was Rust, parked and waiting for him. Marty hung up the phone. Rust watched him as he approached. Marty felt silly and then felt absurd for feeling that way. “What are you doing here… again?”

Rust held a plastic bag with a to-go box inside out to him through the truck’s window.

“You still need to eat lunch.” Marty took the food from him, touched. “You sure that little display wasn’t just your way of getting out of paying?”

Marty grinned. “I’ll make it up to you.”

Rust let his gaze drop, then slowly drag up to meet Marty’s eyes again. Marty could feel his face heat and it both pleased and pissed him off. “I’m sure you will.”

“Get the fuck out of here, asshole.”

Rust laughed and reversed back out of the parking spot. “See you soon, Hart.”

Marty stood and watched until the red pickup was out of sight before he headed back inside.

He barely had the chance to set his lunch on his desk before Salter was hollering from the door of his office.

“Hart, get the fuck in here.” His last name sounded a lot better in Rust’s mouth, he decided.

 _Shit_.

Marty walked slowly, putting some swagger into his steps so he felt less like he was being called to the principal’s office. He stopped in the doorway, looking in on where the Major sat at his desk.

“Yeah, boss?”

“Sit your ass down.” He pointed at one of the chairs opposite him. Even knowing what this was going to be about, Marty still felt caught out. He left the door open - best to get ahead of the rumours, if he could - and sat down.

“What is it?”

“Don’t play dumb with me. Cohle? Really? What are you two up to?”

Marty raised his eyebrows in a mein of surprise and hooked his thumb over his shoulder. “Oh, you mean that? We grabbed lunch.”

“Bullshit.”

“Hand to god, Leroy.”

“So… what?” He narrowed his eyes at Marty. “You expect me to believe you guys are friends now? You _hated_ each other. Cohle quit. I had to suspend your ass for beating the shit out him.”

“We made up.” Marty shrugged and left it at that. He knew the less he said, the better, but as always, he couldn’t help himself. “And we never _hated_ each other.”

“I swear to god, Hart. I’ll never understand the two of you but I don’t want any more displays like before. I can’t tell you who you can be friends with but don’t let it interfere with the work.”

“Yes, sir.” He tried - he really tried - to be sincere, but this was ridiculous. Besides…

 _If you only knew, Major._ He couldn’t keep the damn smile off his face.

“Don’t you fuckin- Don’t tell me I’m gonna get sass from you, now that Cohle isn’t here to do it for you,” Salter huffed in exasperation. He pointed to the door. “Go. Get out.”

Marty grinned to himself and headed back to his desk to eat his lunch. It was always a good day when he could work Salter into an impotent rage.

Before he got back to work, he pulled out his phone and sent Rust a text: _The mole was delicious. Thank u._

It didn’t take long for Rust to answer: _youre welcome you missed out on the papadzules_

He should leave it at that, but forced himself not to second guess what he wanted to say.

_Want to come over and talk this week? Thursday? That way we can still hang out this weekend?_

Marty needed to see Thompson before he could face this.

_so confident that youll still want that_

Marty chuckled to himself.

“Hart, stop giggling like a schoolgirl and get back to work,” Salter barked at him.

 _I am. See you Thursday around 8._ Then he shut his phone in his desk drawer and settled in to do follow up on Monday’s DB.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Oats in the Water by Ben Howard


	9. Don't Leave This Mark

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty had a plan. He knew what he wanted and he was going to be honest about it. What he failed to take into account were Rust's feelings on the matter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I SHOULD BE WRITING FOR NANOWRIMO BUT HERE I AM, FEEDING Y'ALL INSTEAD.
> 
> Enjoy the pain.

####  **Tuesday**

Before he could properly talk to Rust on Thursday, Marty knew he needed some feedback; an outsider’s perspective. And that meant Dr. Thompson. He’d jotted down a bulleted list of ways he was being more honest, or at least  _ trying  _ to be. He spread the wrinkled sheet flat against his thigh as she settled down across from him.

“I see you’ve been thinking about what I asked you last session. Do you want to start with that?”

“Not really.” Marty shrugged but flashed a smile. “Just being honest, Doc.”

She gave him an indulgent smile and inclined her head towards him.  _ Continue _ , it said.

“Okay, I’ll start with one of the easy ones: myself.” He rubbed his thumb over that item on his list.

“You think being honest with yourself is easy?”

“No, but it’s easier for me to talk about.” He took a deep breath and dove in. “I have a long habit of lying to myself about why I’m doing things and I’ve… not stopped, exactly, but I’m trying to call myself out on it more.”

“Do you have an example for me?”

“Oh god, where do I even start?” He chuckled nervously. “I blame others for my own actions. Like Audrey, for example. I’ve been reaching out to her, by the way. Just texts so far - once a week - making it clear she’s welcome to join Macie and I on our Wednesday visitations. And that I miss her.”

“Sounds like you’re also being honest with Audrey.” Marty nodded.

“Yeah, it’s… scary. Also, it’s difficult to be neutral, when I want something so badly.”

“Letting people see our emotions and desires is frightening, but you’re doing well. Has she responded to your messages?”

“Not even a little.” Marty touched the smudged graphite of the line item  _ Audrey _ with his pointer finger.

“Give her time. She can still come around. In the meantime, it sounds like what you’ve got the right idea. The texts give her space while still letting her know that she’s on your mind.” She paused to write something down. Her notebook reminded Marty of Rust’s ledger. “So Martin, why don’t we get to what you really want to talk about.”

His eyes snapped up to meet her’s. There was no judgment there, just patient curiosity. It didn’t make this any easier.

“Can’t get anything past you, Doc.” He looked down at his list to the last item:  **_Rust_ ** **.** He’d written over the name several times so that it was darker than the other items. “So… I haven’t exactly been entirely forthcoming about something.”

He took a deep breath. He knew it was ridiculous, but he felt that saying it out loud made whatever was happening less in his control.

“I’m sleeping with Rust.” He forced himself to look up at Dr Thompson. She nodded in acknowledgement. “It… started, uhm… about three or four weeks ago. The day after we ran into each other.”

She remained quiet and Marty stumbled on, incredibly aware of the silence.

“I didn’t even mean for it to happen but-” He cut himself off. He’d just talked about how he was trying to be more honest with himself. “No. I mean, I  _ didn’t  _ mean for it to happen, but I  _ did _ want it to. I see that now.”

“How long have you been attracted to Rust?” Marty almost choked.

“Fuck, I don’t know. From the beginning? In a casual way. I always noticed he was good-looking, but I was… preoccupied elsewhere.” He couldn’t remember if he’d talked about them getting teamed up back in ‘95. “That was back during my first affair and that big case that got my name in all the papers.”

“When’s the first time you can recall being attracted to him in a sexual way?”

It took every ounce of self control not to squirm under her scrutiny.

“Consciously? When we ran into each other again… when we argued. It got a little… physical and-” He hid his face in his hands. “I think… I don’t know- It may have been earlier.”

“Martin?” He peeked through his fingers at her. “Were you aware of your attraction to men before this encounter?”

He made a noncommittal grunt along with a one-shouldered shrug. “It was a…  _ thing _ … but no, not really? I knew I wasn’t gay - I’m not gay - but I did notice men and I’ve… done things; kids’ stuff… but Rust is the first…”

He knew he was rambling so he let himself trail off.

“Have you ever heard of the term  _ bisexual _ ?” Dr. Thompson asked gently. Marty rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I have. And I suppose I’m  _ that _ , but I never thought I’d ever feel-” He choked on words, gesturing vaguely with his hands.

“Do you have romantic feelings for Rust?”

Marty groaned and hid his face again. She patiently waited for him to compose himself.

Marty wasn’t sure how to answer her question. What he felt for Rust wasn’t like what he’d felt for his girlfriends or for Maggie. The man quite frankly frustrated him more than anyone else he’d ever met. His brain was a twisted, dark labyrinth that puzzled Marty most of the time.

But he couldn’t shake him. Seven years and the man had somehow burrowed so far under Marty’s skin and into his mind that he didn’t think he could ever dig Rust out. He didn’t want to. 

“What I feel for Rust is complicated,” he finally sighed, pressing his palms together and dragging his fingers over his lips. 

“Take your time,” Thompson prompted.

“The sex is…” He let his hands fall open, at a loss to express just how being with Rust made him feel. “Amazing. I don’t think I’ve ever…  _ let go _ like I do with him.”

“How do you mean?”

“I’m not sure how to describe it- It’s like surrendering? I know I can’t hurt him and he’s- ugh, fuck, this is embarrassing,” he mumbled. “He’s  _ strong _ and… not  _ controlling _ exactly, but he tells me what to do. And  _ fuuuck,  _ if it doesn’t do things to me.”

“Do you feel like he’s your equal in bed?”

Marty laughed suddenly. “Fuck, if anything, I’m subordinate to him. Shit, that’s a weird thing to admit because I like that too.”

“Freeing?” she asked and Marty nodded.

“I’ve always liked when girlfriends were aggressive or demanding in bed. I like when someone tells me what they want. Takes some of the pressure off, you know? And with Rust… Rust takes what he wants by asking me for it and it’s like I can’t help but give it to him. I _ want  _ to.”

“It sounds like you two are sexually compatible, but that’s not what I asked you, Marty.”

“Yeah, I know.” He tapped his fingers on his knees. “He was my partner for seven years, and that dynamic is still there. And that frisson we always had… I think it was attraction. But love? I don’t know if Rust believes-”

“Marty…” she says softly. “You’re avoiding.”

“I know I am, because I don’t know. I don’t  _ know _ .”  _ Liar _ . He couldn’t bring himself to say it. It seemed weird to admit something to her that he could barely think in his own head.

The beep that indicated their session was over sounded, but Dr. Thompson didn’t move.

“When do plan on seeing him next?”

“We’re hanging out Thursday.”

She made a noise and jotted a note down. “I would suggest talking to him about your feelings.”

Marty wanted to laugh. Talking to Rust about emotions seemed ridiculous, what with the man’s outlook on life. No, thank you. As much as Marty wanted to know how Rust felt, he would most likely stick to talking about concrete things, like if they were going to keep fucking.

God, he hoped they were going to keep fucking.

“Yeah… That’s- that’s actually the plan.”

“I know it might seem unnecessary, but you’re just coming off several very emotional events - your divorce and loss of the stability of a family, the dissolution of your professional partnership. I would urge caution before making any big decisions.”

“I’m not gonna propose to him, Doc. We’re still figuring out… you know-”

“The boundaries of your friendship, yes. But you’ve introduced a sexual and possibly a romantic facet to a relationship that’s in flux. I wouldn’t want you to begin something on shaky foundations and the best way to avoid that is to make sure to address any lingering issues between the two of you.”

“You make it sound like we need couples’ counseling,” Marty said lightly, chuckling like the whole thing was a joke and inconsequential, but realising the joke had already been made between Rust and him. Probably meant there was some truth to it.

“All I’m saying, is that if Rust is as important to you as you let on, be careful.”

####  **Wednesday**

Marty’s week continued to be a confusing mixture of complicated happiness. When Macie got dropped off for their visitation, Audrey walked her up to the door. 

He hadn’t seen her in months and the change was shocking: she was wearing less makeup than he’d seen on her in years and she’d cut her hair or styled it differently. She looked grown up. He had to remind himself that she nearly was. The realisation was still hard to wrap his brain around.

“Audrey, you look…” He saw her jaw tighten, jutting out. “Really pretty. It’s good to see you.”

“Hey, dad,” she said, not looking at him but rather past him. He balked in surprise. Macie rolled her eyes and pushed past him.

“Imma start my homework,” She said, then called from the kitchen. “Can we order pizza?”

“Yeah,” he hollered back over his shoulder, then gestured into the apartment at Audrey. “You want pizza?”

Audrey gave a disaffected shrug and suddenly Marty saw himself in her; in the way she was trying so hard not to care. Hell, her whole rebellious  _ thing _ was him to a T.

“Sure,” she muttered, slipping passed him and throwing herself down on the sofa like she owned the place.

Marty sat at the kitchen table with Macie and helped her with her homework - although, it was more like she figured it out by explaining it to him. Every few minutes, he’d glance over at where Audrey was watching television. It was all very normal and domestic. There was nothing special about the evening, but that was what made it so special.

It was the best Wednesday he’d had in a very long time.

####  **Thursday**

Marty’s mind was in turmoil as he drove home from work. He was dreading this as much as he was looking forward to it. Once home, he showered and despite his better judgement - and Thompson’s advice towards caution - he changed into a nice pair of slacks and a henley that he knew made his shoulders look good.

It wasn’t like this was a date, he just wanted to look- nice? Okay, so maybe this felt a little like a date.

When the knock came, he dried his palms on his pants and opened it with a grin… only for it to falter right off his face. Rust looked… well,  _ fuckable _ was the only word for it. He was wearing tight, dark jeans and a leather jacket over a plain tee. There was nothing special about it, but Marty couldn’t be alone with him looking like  _ that _ . He didn’t trust himself. Rust noticed Marty looking and looked down at himself.

“What?”

“Nothin’,” Marty mumbled, grabbing his keys and herding Rust backwards. “Let’s walk.”

“I thought you wanted privacy,” Rust said, smirking at him.

“Shut the fuck up. Walking helps me think.” Marty locked the door, avoiding Rust’s eyes.

“Sure it does, buddy.” But Rust followed him anyway, jogging a little to catch up.

There was a bike path that passed behind his apartment and Marty made a beeline for it, despite it being dark. When his feet hit the black tarmac, he slowed his pace. Rust fell in beside him, and for a while, they walked in silence. Marty kept sneaking sideways looks at him. He wished they could just walk like this and not talk.

Despite having thought about nothing but this for days, weeks- hell,  _ months- _ , Marty didn’t feel ready. He didn’t have the words to express himself; already saw how this would go: Rust talking circles around him while Marty got tangled up in the weeds of his emotions.

“Do you want to start or should I?” Rust said, his voice kept low even though there was probably no one for miles. The trails technically closed at sunset.

“I don’t even know-” Marty stopped. It wasn’t true. He knew exactly where he  _ wanted  _ to start, but it seemed a bit uncouth to blurt out  _ We gonna keep screwing? _ “You go.”

Rust sucked in a breath through his teeth. “What freaked you out at the restaurant?”

“You  _ would _ start with the hard question, you asshole.” Marty tucked his hands into his pockets to keep them from being tells. Rust could probably read him even if he wasn’t fidgeting but it gave him something to do while he tried to put shit into words. “It was several things. I still… I still feel really guilty about, you know, everything, and you talking about how Maggie- well, I suppose it all snuck up on me.”

He’d thought too much about the little that Rust had let slip during their lunch and nothing productive had come from it other than Marty getting even angrier at Maggie.

Rust made a thoughtful noise beside him. “Sorta sprung it on you, to be fair. But then - after - you ran away from me, specifically.”

Marty sped up, unconsciously, then stopped himself, turning to face Rust. They were underneath a lamppost, the halogen buzzing and casting its flat light down on them. It made strange, severe shadows of Rust’s features. He didn’t want to talk about this after all, he decided.

“I’m really fucking confused, Rust.”

“You’re always confused, Marty. That excuse’ll only get you so far with me.” Rust shrugged, his tone not exactly unkind, but the words cut anyway. “I get it.”

“No, I don’t think you do,” Marty said, harsher than he meant to, but he was really feeling his frustration. He leaned into the feeling, letting it guard his more vulnerable parts. “I know I don’t have much of a leg to stand on but what happened between us fucked me up.”

In the dim light, Rust’s lips thinned disapprovingly.

“I’m not talking about Maggie, but that it was  _ you _ that she used against me. I know… I know  _ now _ that it hurt so bad because I felt possessive of you. But she knew it then and- fuck, do you know how shitty I felt when I finally picked apart the fact that I was more torn up over the loss of you than my wife?”

Of course, Marty had cared about the marriage, but Rust, well- That’d been a surprise.

“Had  _ that _ little epiphany in the middle of your old place - yeah, I let myself in when you didn’t answer the door. Sue me. Part of it was that Maggie and I had wounded each other in both big and little ways for so many years, while you… I was totally unprepared for how much you could hurt me.

“Again, not your fault. I- god, I’m surprised you even stayed in the area after what I did. But then months… I was fucking obsessed with finding you. Only to stumble into you. And- and… I feel like I’ve been stumbling ever since.”

Marty had lost his train of thought. He was just ranting now, gesturing at Rust. He forced himself to stop and breathe for a second. His heart was pounding and the words he’d promised himself he wouldn’t say were on the tip of his tongue. A new resolve settled in Marty’s stomach. He knew what he wanted.

He wanted Rust - as his friend and in his bed. There was no reason they couldn’t continue to do both. No damn good reason.

_ Except if Rust doesn’t want you _ , a voice whispered in the back of his mind.

“It’s just… a lot, Rust. All at once, having you back in my life and- well, you know…” He stepped closer to Rust and placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. “Listen, I am so,  _ so _ glad to have you back. I’m glad you want to still be around me, let alone try and be friends. But-”

“Marty-,” Rust interrupted, placing a hand over Marty’s reassuringly. He looked Marty in the eyes and Marty knew before he even got the words out that everything was slipping through his fingers. “We’re both disasters. I don’t know how to be anyone’s friend, let alone-”

Marty pulled his hand away forcefully. “Don’t.”

“Listen, I’m-”

“I’m serious, Rust.”

“So am I,  _ Marty _ ,” Rust bit back. They stood, facing off across the pool of light. If either one of them stepped back, they’d disappear into the night. Marty was tempted, but the fear that he’d never see Rust again kept his feet rooted. Then Rust let loose the killing blow. “We can’t keep sleeping together, not if we want to be friends.”

“You keep saying that,” Marty spit, his bitterness an unpleasant taste in his mouth and heart. “And then…”

He couldn’t lay blame solely at Rust’s feet, but fuck, Marty felt tricked.

“I’m sorry,” Rust sighed. And he sounded so damn sorry, Marty wanted to grab ahold of him and throw him to the ground. It wasn’t  _ fair _ ; to open Marty’s eyes to something like this and then yank it away. “I had no idea that- I didn’t know what I was starting.”

“So what? You were just jerking me around?” Marty flung the words like a weapon, knowing they lacked veracity but wanting to hurt. Rust walked across to his edge of the circle, close enough that Marty could see his sad expression. He looked tired and defeated.

“Stop looking at me like I have all the fucking answers, Marty. I was fooling myself.” His eyes searched Marty’s face. “Maybe I’m fooling myself that we can be friends. We’d have never looked twice at each other if we hadn’t been teamed up back in the day.”

That was all it took to take all the wind out of Marty’s sails. He wanted to deny this statement. He wanted to point out that they  _ had _ been teamed up and it had changed them both. Neither of them believed in fate but christ, their time together  _ meant  _ something.  _ This _ meant something. But his tongue wouldn’t cooperate. 

He stared at Rust and  was reminded how fragile this new thing was between them. “Rust…”

Rust dropped his gaze and stepped around Marty, heading back the way they’d come.

_ No _ . Marty couldn’t let him walk away, not again. Panic clawed its way up his throat and before he knew it he was chasing Rust, grabbing ahold of the lapels of his jacket, and shoving him back against one of the trees lining the path. But this time, he didn’t want to hurt Rust; he wanted to keep him. He wanted everything from him.

He should just say it. He should tell Rust how he felt, but the words tangled themselves up in his throat, choking him.

Rust clenched his jaw and glared, hands already closing painfully around Marty’s wrists. “We doing this agai-”

He did the next best thing: Marty kissed him.

He meant for it only to be an apology; a way to continue their conversation. He had to hunch down and angle his head to meet Rust’s lips because of the way Rust was leaning back against the trunk. It was only supposed to be something momentary and gentle, but when it was over, he couldn’t help but press another soft kiss to Rust’s parted lips. And then another. And another.

_ Idiot _ , he meant it to say. 

_ I love you.  _

_ Don’t leave me. _

_ Please. _

Rust sucked in a sharp breath as if he was going to yell at Marty.

He didn’t yell. Rust kissed him back, craning his head up to meet Marty. Rust went from rigid and unforgiving to warm and yielding in a second. Rust’s lips were dry and smooth against on his own; slightly chapped. The friction, the novelty, was electric, and Marty pushed closer, kissing harder.

It started clumsily. Both of them surprised and overeager, but then Rust’s hands slid up Marty’s arms and into his hair. His mouth opened under Marty’s and-

“ _ Oh- _ ” Marty breathed. This is what he’d been missing. Not just these past few weeks, but from his life.

It was his last coherent thought before he lost himself in the drag of Rust’s teeth over his lower lip, the slick swipe of his tongue in Marty’s mouth.  _ Oh fuck _ . Rust kissed like he did everything else: with a single-minded persistence and a slow deliberation that would border on laziness if it wasn’t so damn purposeful. He kissed liked they’d done this before, like he knew exactly how Marty liked to be kissed. He kissed exactly like Marty expected him to kiss: purely instinctual yet so intuitive that Marty’s knees were already weak with need.

Marty could do this every day. He wanted to do this every day. He wanted Rust naked in his bed - inside him and kissing him like  _ this _ . It didn’t even surprise him that kissing Rust was both a revelation and a homecoming. Every time they came together, it’d been like this. He’d always recognised something in Rust, despite his strangeness.

Rust scratched his nails over Marty’s scalp, one hand continuing down Marty’s spine. It stopped at the small of his back and splayed wide, pulling Marty flush against Rust. They were both hard and they gave into it, rutting like teenagers through their clothing. Marty didn’t even care they were in public. He’d fuck Rust right here against this tree. He’d let Rust push him against it and fuck him raw. He’d give this man anything -  _ anything, anything, anything… _

Marty moaned brokenly.

And then he was shoved away.

He stumbled back a few steps. He’d nearly forgotten that he had a body; his own body that was separate from Rust’s. Rust slumped against the tree and drew the back of his hand across his mouth.

“God  _ dammit _ , Marty. I  _ told  _ you not to- We’re not fucking doing this.”

“Why not?” Marty yelled, desperately. “This is good-”

“It’s not  _ good _ , you idiot. Can’t you see that? We’re not good for each other. Have you learned  _ nothing  _ in the last seven years?” Rust pushed away from the tree. “You can’t take ‘no’ for an answer and I-”

He spread his arms helplessly at his sides.

“I’m a fucking fool and junkie,” he finished under his breath, sounding disgusted. Then he straightened, tugging down his jacket. His eyes had hardened to shards of flint. “I thought maybe… maybe friends. Maybe something… but no. Fuck this, I’m leaving.”

He strode past Marty and left Marty reeling from the rejection, from being given the taste of something truly special and then having it snatched away. He felt grief pressing at the backs of his eyes and underneath his heart. This couldn’t be the end.

“Rust…” he whispered, voice refusing to work. Rust spun, walking backwards away from him. He was a slightly darker shadow in the dark.

“Don’t call me, Marty. Don’t come looking for me. Got that? I’m saying ‘no’.”

Marty stared after him until he couldn’t differentiate his movement anymore in the night, until he couldn’t hear Rust’s footsteps. Only then did it sink in that it was over; well and truly  _ over _ . He felt alternately warm and cold. He recognised it for what it was: Shock.

How had it all fallen apart so quickly? How could Rust not see? Was it possible that he didn’t feel what Marty felt? Likely, Marty concluded. They’d hardly ever been on the same page, but when they had- It didn’t matter either way. He’d fucked it up. Again. Before they’d even gotten started.

Rust was wrong. It wasn’t Marty being contrary the way he’d so often been in their partnership. The man was plain wrong. There was something here, between them. It was fucked up and twisted and unorthodox, but Marty’s instincts told him that it could work. And fuck him, it  _ was _ good. They made each other better. Always had.

But Rust had said no. He didn’t want it. He didn’t want Marty; not enough, if at all. Marty’s heart was still trembling with uncertainty that this had ever been anything more than frail friendship and a convenient fuck for Rust.

He walked home on autopilot. When he entered, he had to double check the number on the front door. The place looked foreign to him. But no, it was his apartment. It was only him that had changed; he’d become unrecognisable to himself. His life was the life of a stranger’s.

Marty collapsed on his couch, turning his cellphone over in his hands. He wanted to call Rust. He wanted to text him.

But the memory of Rust’s accusation -  _ You can’t take ‘no’ for an answer -  _ held him back. Instead, he scrolled through their message history, rereading the megre exchanges they’d thrown back and forth. 

He didn’t think it was in his head. Tone was hard to read in text but Rust had flirted with him. There’d been  _ something _ \- or at least the possibility of something - and Marty… Marty had pushed too hard and too fast, like he always did.

It suddenly occurred to him that for the first time in his life, it was  _ him _ left desperate and wanting more. He had a newfound sympathy for all the women he’d tossed aside in his life. Jesus, Rust was right to not want anything to do with him. It wasn’t them that didn’t work. It was Marty.

Marty snapped his phone shut and resolved to respect Rust’s wishes. Even if they never spoke again - Marty’s stomach clenched at the thought - he could leave Rust with that. Rust never had to know Marty loved him in order for Marty to demonstrate it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from You Will Leave A Mark by A Silent Film


	10. The World Is Out Of Colour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What was Marty to do now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lots of (justified) self-loathing in this chapter, binge drinking as a coping mechanism, and mention of drug use.

###  **Week Five**

####  **Saturday**

A small part of him hoped that Rust would show up without warning again over the weekend. Marty half-convinced himself that this was what would happen - that Rust would text him, ask him over and they’d never mention what had happened.

He didn’t and Marty got very, very drunk alone in his apartment.

####  **Sunday**

He nursed a hangover and felt sorry for himself for most of Sunday.

####  **Monday-Friday**

Marty threw himself into his work to avoid thinking about Rust. It didn’t work, but it was a start. He begged Salter for anything to keep him busy, anything to keep him preoccupied. When the Major questioned him about it, he mumbled some excuse about the divorce and idle hands. It was enough of an explanation for Leroy, but the work still wasn’t enough to keep Marty from fretting.

Despite the crazy hours he was pulling, Marty laid in bed every night, burning up - for lack of a better term. Because that was what he felt like - like he was detoxing, like he was slowly working Rust out of his system.

He’d had his heart broken badly once, when he was a teenager. He’d fallen quickly for a girl out of his league and she’d left him unceremoniously after a few intense weeks for her ex. He’d been destroyed for months after. Even thirty years later, he remembered the feeling well and that was the only thing even remotely close to what he was feeling.

At least it confirmed something for him. It hit him Monday as he sat in the stands at another one of Macie’s games. He was surrounded by couples and by families and he hated it. It forced him to face the fact that he’d been in love with Rust. Head-over-heels _in love_.

How pathetic. How wonderful. How fucking, miserably _awful._

He still didn’t know when these feelings had started - Gradually over the last several weeks? That first night at the bar? Sometime in their years as partners? He didn’t think he’d ever be able to excavate things locked inside the deep, dark recesses of himself; things that were better off left buried. His emotions were too sore, the wounds too fresh.

Maybe one day he’d understand the cause-and-effect of what had happened with Rust. Maybe he wouldn’t. The only thing he knew is that he wouldn’t take any of it back, even if he could. Rust had changed him irrevocably, had forced Marty to take a hard look at himself. He’d live with his regrets, but he’d never give a single second of that time back.

Marty smiled outwardly. He cheered and hollered as Macie was hoisted aloft by her fellow teammates. But on the inside, he felt withered and hollow. A single fucking month and Rust had managed to do something that his marriage of ten years hadn’t done: he’d shattered Marty’s heart and his understanding of himself.

He shoved the despair down. He knew it would pass. His only route was forward.

\---

He held that line until his next therapy session slipped up on him again and he found himself sitting across from Dr. Thompson. He could tell by the way she was studying him that he looked as shit as he felt.

“So Martin, do you want to tell me how last Thursday went?” she asked, and Marty didn’t know if it was her calm voice or the fact that it was the first time he’d been asked about it, but he choked on a sudden welling of sadness. She passed him a box of tissues.

“Should I take your reaction to mean that it didn’t go well?”

Marty blew his nose, but the sadness stayed lodged stubbornly in his throat.

“Gosh, Doc. You think?” he said with as much sarcasm as he could muster, which wasn’t much. “Sorry… that was- Sorry. It was a fucking disaster.”

“You want to tell me what happened?”

“No, not really.” He plucked another tissue out of the box and played with it in his lap. “God… It was so good to see him. We went on a walk and… I tried telling him how I felt, but- he didn’t want-”

Marty stared down at his hands, but he was really seeing the tight line of Rust’s shoulders in his head. Even now, he couldn’t help but remember the sharp cut of the man’s cheekbones, that peculiar razor beauty.

“What did he say?”

“That we shouldn’t fuck anymore, if we wanted to be friends.” He felt a painful echo of what he’d felt when Rust had said those words.

“And how did you respond?”

Marty swallowed thickly and fell back into his chair. “I kissed him - I’d never… before. I thought it would make him- I don’t know…  Goddammit, he was right. I don’t fucking listen.”

“And after you kissed him?”

Marty wasn’t ready to move on from the fact that when he’d kissed Rust, Rust had kissed him back. Marty had never been kissed like that before, like the other person needed him like air. And Marty had never felt like he’d give up the very oxygen in his own lungs to be kissed like that again.

“He told me not to contact him.”

“Do you plan on listening to him.”

“I have to,” Marty said sadly, sitting up. It hurt to support his own weight. “I love him, so I have to.”

Across from him, Dr. Thompson pressed her lips together. “I’m sorry that things turned out this way, Martin.”

“Yeah, me too,” Marty laughed. Then he shrugged. “But I have no one to blame but myself.”

“It’s good that you see your role in what happened, but I’d encourage you to remember that six months ago, you thought you’d never see Rust again. I wouldn’t count out his capacity for forgiveness, nor would I make assumptions about the nature of his feelings for you.”

“He said-”

“Yes, but think about how complicated your own feelings are. You can’t expect Rust to be certain of something that is so uncertain between the two of you.” Her eyes softened and she leaned forward, her voice lowering. “I only know what you’ve told me, but given his behaviour… he seems conflicted.”

Marty nodded even as he felt that it was hopeless. He’d sworn that he wouldn’t go begging and he’d never expect Rust to break his silence. The man was nothing if not decisive. It’d been Marty’s contradictory behaviour that’d convoluted things between them. Rust had been clear with his wishes. It was over.

“In better news, Doc. I’ve stopped drinking.” It was an obvious subject change, but she allowed it. “Oh! And Audrey’s talking to me.”

He launched into how Audrey had showed up with Macie, feeling the faintest stirring of something akin to happiness.

When Marty left after the session, he wasn’t sure he’d be returning. As good as Dr. Thompson’s intentions were, he couldn’t afford to have hope. Hope was one of those emotions that ate Marty up on the inside. It was corrosive.

Additionally, he couldn’t shake the memory of why he’d started seeing her again.

He decided to stick with it for now. The rest of his life was still messy and it gave him something to demarcate his days, but next Tuesday, he was going to avoid the topic of Rust. There was no use dwelling on it anymore than he had to.

\---

The rest of his week passed in a blur of mind numbing busywork. But that’s what he needed. He pulled long hours so that he fell into bed exhausted, too tired to do anything but fall into fitful sleep.

He dreamed of Rust every night.

###  **Week Six**

####  **Friday-Sunday**

Marty worked late Friday and into Saturday morning. Normally, he’d have gone to a bar, but the only bar he wanted to frequent was off limits to him. He dragged himself home and into bed, but didn’t fall asleep until the glow of dawn was threatening.

He was woken by the chirping of his cell. He’d forgotten to silence it before collapsing. He squinted at the preview window.

 _12:47 PM_ _  
_ _[3 MESSAGES]_

His heart leapt in his chest even though he knew that it wouldn’t be Rust. Flipping open the phone, he saw that they all were from the same unknown number. He was tempted to forget about it until later and go back to sleep. Marty didn’t particularly want to be awake. But no, he wouldn’t be able to sleep again until he proved to his stupid heart it wasn’t Rust.

 _This is Clancy from the bar. I got_ _  
_ _your number from Spence._

 _He says you’re single. And since_ _  
_ _I haven’t seen you around…_

_Wanna go see a movie sometime? ;)_

Marty couldn’t help but feel disappointed. Any other time - even before his revelation that, yeah, he wanted to fuck guys… _guy_ … - he’d have felt flattered, maybe even flirted back a bit before turning the kid down. Still, it was nice to know Rust was still out there in the world.

He typed out and deleted a half dozen messages before finally settling for an honest - if somewhat long - response:

 _Future-me is kicking myself, but_  
_I’m gonna have to say no. Just_  
_ended something and I’m no fun_ _  
to be around right now_.

 _Sorry and thank you. You made_  
_this old man feel a bit better_ _  
about himself_.

Impulsively, he shot off another message: _tell spence I miss him._

He didn’t get an answer right away so he peeled himself out of bed. He needed to go run errands. He hadn’t bought groceries in over a week; hadn’t been hungry. But heartbreak wasn’t a good excuse to fall to pieces, as appealing as that plan sounded.

After a quick shower, he dragged himself out. Grocery shopping turned out to be an exercise in frustration when nothing sounded appetising. He ended up with two bags of shit he didn’t usually eat.

On the way home, he passed by an adult book and toy store. On a whim, he stopped. His sex drive was through the floor - the few times he’d tried to masturbate this week had been unproductive - but he knew that when it came back, he’d want-

He winced as he walked into the store, but didn’t let himself shy away from the thought: He knew he’d want what Rust had physically given him. He didn’t think he’d ever get over that. He wanted to be stretched and filled again.

Fifteen highly-embarrassing minutes and one awkward conversation with the clerk later, he left the shop with a modest, realistic dildo and silicone-free lube in a black plastic bag. As soon as he got home, it got shoved to the back of his sock drawer. He was too embarrassed and far too sad to even consider using it at the moment.

He put away his groceries and forced himself to cook something at least halfway decent. He settled on stir fry and rice. Just as he was sitting down to eat, his phone chimed.

_[1 MESSAGE]_

_Can’t say I’m not disappointed but_  
_I can say that the look on Spence’s_  
_face when I relayed your message_  
_made me REALLY CURIOUS_ .  
_Are you going to disappoint me_ _  
further?_

Marty sat looking at the message long enough for his food to go cold. What did that _mean?_ He wanted to ask about the look on Rust’s face, but didn’t know how to without breaking his promise. He was already involving Clancy in Rust’s business in a way that made him uncomfortable.

 _Know you’re hoping for gossip, but_ _  
_ _that’s just Spence’s face. :)_

He hoped it read as light and playful as it did in his head. He didn’t want Rust to possibly see it and think he was flirting or trying to be tantalising. While he was worrying, he got a response:

_Boo. Disappointed._

And then:

 _Save my number just in case you need_ _  
_ _a rebound. <3 _

He wished Clancy would stop flirting. He really didn’t want Rust to ever think he was interested. At the same time, it was a nice stroke to his ego.

But then he realised, he was thinking about Rust again. With a sigh, he put away his cold food. Hopefully, it’d reheat well tomorrow.

Since he was thinking about Rust anyway, he went into the guest room that was also Macie’s on the odd nights she stayed over. Since she didn’t keep many clothes here, he used her closet for storage. From the back of the dusty space, he pulled out the things he’d salvaged from Rust’s place all those months ago.

He’d meant to give them back to Rust, but that ship had sailed, and he couldn’t just keep them indefinitely. He really didn’t want yet another reminder of what he’d lost sitting in wait. Best to get the hurt out of the way all at once.

He dragged everything out to the living room: Rust’s lockbox of Crash memorabilia, two file boxes of research - newspaper clippings, casefiles, photographs, photocopies, and what seemed like miles of tangled string that Marty had pulled from the walls - and Rust’s ledger.

The last was bursting with inserted slips of paper, notes, and whatever else Rust had deemed important enough to keep. Seven years of diligent notes and the thoughts of Rust’s brilliant mind were captured between those two leather covers. It felt far too light to house everything that had occurred in their time together.

It was time to go through it all and put Rust behind him, once and for all. Marty was fairly certain that most of it was trash. As much as he loved the man, the shit he’d been spouting towards the end of their partnership had been nuts. He still wasn’t sure if it was just old paranoia or drugs or a mix of the two. He’d never gotten the chance to ask.

There was so much he never got the chance to ask.

Marty should have been there for his partner instead of just ignoring his slow slide towards conspiracies and jumping at shadows, but he’d failed Rust in countless ways. This was just one at the end of a very long list.

He thought of all the time he’d taken for granted. Seven fucking years of it and not once did Marty communicate to Rust how glad he was that the strange man had walked into his life, turned it upside down, made his career, saved his marriage, and then turned his life over a few more times. Rust had cracked something open inside him that he’d never known existed.

Maggie had once bitterly told Marty that he didn’t know who he was and because of that, would never be happy. These last few weeks had been chaotic and painful but Marty knew himself a little better now.

 _Take that, Maggie_ , he thought wryly. Although, she’d probably be smugly satisfied that he was so miserable.

He stroked the cover of the ledger and then decided against starting with it. He set it aside and cracked open the folder boxes. He’d been too distracted when he’d packed them to pay them much mind, but now that he had the time and less turmoil in his mind…

He was shocked.

They were filled with legitimate evidence. The more he pulled from the box, the clearer the picture of a shadow world became. It lay just behind the world that he moved in day to day. Obituary after obituary stacked up alongside articles with pertinent details circled. Even if some of this was the reaching of a paranoid mind, there was still something here.

After two hours of sorting, Marty sat back on his heels with shaking hands.

The floor of his living room was covered. He could see the beginnings of patterns and shapes taking form.

This is what Rust had been doing, probably from the moment he broke up with Laurie almost a year ago until… Until Marty pulled everything down around their ears. It hadn’t been Rust going off the deep end, it’d been Marty. Once again. He could see it now.

Rust hadn’t come to him because he’d seen Marty couldn’t be counted on. He’d been right not to. Marty would have- What? Laughed at him? He thought about the impossible balancing act he’d been performing with Beth and work and home. He’d taken Rust for granted.

He realised that it’d happened a long time before Rust needed him, long before Marty went off the rails.

Marty scooted away from the litter on the floor until his back was pressed against the wall. What was he going to do? What _the fuck_ was he going to do?

####  **Monday**

Nothing. Marty did nothing.

He couldn’t bring himself to _do_ anything. He was paralysed with indecision. He couldn’t touch the evidence covering the floor of his living room let alone act on it. Because if it was right - if _Rust_ was right - Marty couldn’t bring it to Leroy. There wasn’t a single official in the state that could be trusted.

If he handed it over, it would most likely disappear; it would most definitely tank his career.

Marty sat across from the asshole that had killed his ex-girlfriend, watching him write out his confession, and had the distinct feeling that he was playing a role in a much larger drama. It was a strange, disconnected revelation. Marty mattered very little apart from this: what he decided to do with what had fallen into his lap.

When Marty got home, he settled on the floor of his living room, surrounded by the ghosts of dozens of dead women and children, absently flipping through Rust’s ledger. He was looking at the pages - full of Rust’s handwriting and sketches - but not really seeing any of it. He stayed there until well past dark, turning his options over in his head.

Marty had two choices: he could ignore this like he’d done before. He could show up to work; do his job. He could put one foot in front of the other and try to move past Rust and the past that was trying to sneak back up on him.

Or he could throw it all away and actually _be_ a better man rather than just talking about it.

Marty didn’t think he could put his blinders back on again. He’d never be able to see things the same. His job was ruined. His life was ruined.

So that just left him with the question of how he was going to proceed. He needed help.

He needed Rust.

 _Fuck_.

####  **Tuesday**

Dr. Thompson immediately picked up on his unease. He’d kept a tight lid on it while at work, but now it came spilling out of him as nervous energy.

“Do you want to tell me what’s on your mind?”

Marty sat forward and clasped his hands together. He was trembling.

“I do. I really do. I need- I need to talk to someone about this, but- it can’t be you. Gotta do with a case, you see? An old case. We thought we’d solved it-” He planted his elbows on his knees and pressed his knuckles against his mouth.

“I take it this has something to do with your case from ninety-five?” Of course she’d make the connection. She was smart. Marty nodded, keeping his eyes locked on the floor. “If you can’t talk to me, is there someone you _can_ talk to? A colleague perhaps?”

Marty gave her a significant look over his conjoined hands. She understood immediately.

“You’re thinking about taking it to Rust.”

“He’s the only one I can trust with this,” he gritted out through clenched teeth. “I don’t want to force myself back into his life but… I wish I was exaggerating that this is a matter of life and death.”

He knew he wasn’t being entirely truthful. A scared, desperate part of him was glad that he had some excuse to do this. He hated himself for it; for even considering his desires when there was _this._

“I need to know _how_ to do this without… I don’t want him to feel like I’m manipulating him.”

“How about you start with what you’ve considered doing?”

Marty dropped his head forward, resting his forehead against his fists.

“This wasn’t even my case. It’s the thing Rust was working on back when we fell apart… the first time. Kept it secret. I didn’t believe him when he was caught out. I thought he was crazy or imagining it.” Marty took a deep breath and let it out slowly before continuing.

“I was going through his stuff this weekend. The shit he’d left behind at his old place and… I was thinking it’d help me get closure or whatever, but the closer I looked, the more I realised… he wasn’t crazy. I just didn’t want to listen to him. I was… such a shitty partner to him. And I haven’t really changed. I’m still self-involved and selfish.” He opened his hands and looked at his palms. He had nothing to offer anyone. “So I was… thinking about just- giving it all back to him. I don’t have a right to make him work with me and I can’t work it alone…”

Marty looked up, waiting for a reaction.

“How would you go about this; returning his property?”

“I donno, Doc,” he admitted with a helpless shrug. “Everything I think of seems manipulative. I wish I could just drop the boxes off in front of his place, but fuck, that’s so passive-aggressive.”

“It seems as though you’re hung up on respecting his wish for you not to contact him, but consider this Marty: the circumstances have changed. Could you not reach out to him in good faith and trust him to understand?”

When she said it, it seemed so simple. He could. But-

“It’s not that I don’t trust him… I’m just- I’m afraid to let him down,” he finally said.

“Well,” Dr. Thompson said as the timer on her desk chirped. “Then don’t let him down.”

\---

When Marty got home, he collected the papers off the floor and carefully put them back in their boxes, then took everything back into the guest bedroom. He stacked them by the end of the bed, sat down next to them, and then called the bar.

“‘llo,” said a distantly familiar voice. Marty was both disappointed and relieved that it wasn’t Rust.

“Hi, uhm… Could I leave a message for one of your bartenders?”

“Which one?”

“Ru- Spencer. Spence,” he stuttered. The gruff voice was silent for a beat too long and for a second, Marty feared that Rust had ghosted again. If that were the case, he’d never find Rust; not unless he wished it.

“Yeah, sure. Do I need to write this down?”

“No.” Crap. He hadn’t thought this through. He’d assumed it’d be Clancy or even Rust that answered the phone. “Can you tell him that Marty called? And that… I believe him.”

There was an even longer pause before the voice came back. “Cryptic.”

“You’ll tell him?”

“Yeah, yeah… I’ll tell him. What should I say when he inevitably asks what the fuck that means?”

“He’ll know what I mean. But-” Marty sucked in a breath. “If he does ask, tell him to call me. He has my number.”

“Uh-huh,” the voice said skeptically.

There was a protracted silence where all Marty heard were the vague sounds of the bar. He was about to thank him - he was pretty sure it was the same guy who’d served him on that first night, Easyrider - when the man blew out an irritated breath.

“You’re that guy. The one who’s been visitin’ him.” It wasn’t a question so Marty didn’t say anything. He hunched forward, feeling the guilt roil in his stomach. “Never seen Spence happy ‘bout something before.”

The man couldn’t have hurt Marty more if he’d physically hit him. He curled further over, as if protecting his vitals.

“Yeah. He’s… something else,” he managed to choke out. The man hummed his agreement.

“Well, whatever yer doin’, keep it up.” It just kept getting worse. Marty wanted to beg him to stop. “Anything else?”

“No. No, thank you.”

The man hung up without another word. Marty stared at his phone and desperately hoped he’d done the right thing.

####  **Wednesday**

His phone rang in the dead of the night. Marty answered it before waking up, the action more a reflex than a decision.

“Hart,” he muttered. He was already rolling out of bed, expecting to have to go into work.

“Marty.”

Marty was suddenly, immediately awake. It was Rust. He settled back on the edge of the mattress.

“Hey…” he whispered. “Hi.”

“Laughlin gave me your message. S’why I’m calling.” He sounded drunk, slurring his words. “Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“Yes,” Marty admitted. “Of course that’s what I want. You know what I- But that’s not what I’m tryna do… force you to speak to me. The evidence…”

“Thought I was crazy,” Rust bit out.

“I did.” There was no use denying it.

“And now?” Rust’s voice took on a brittle edge.

“I don’t.” Marty heard Rust sigh on the other end of the line. “Not anymore. This shit- you were right about most of it, far as I can see.”

“Thank you. Doesn’t… no difference now, but- I guess…” There was a long silence. Marty wanted so badly to fill it but he didn’t know what to say. “Well, then… Goodbye, Marty.”

“Wait!” For a beat, he thought that Rust had already hung up, but he could still hear Rust’s breathing. It was such an intimate thing. If Marty closed his eyes, he could pretend Rust was here with him, in the dark. His heart clenched at the thought. “Do you want it back?”

More silence. And in that silence, Marty realised how his question could be read two ways: Do you want your stuff back? Do you want what we had back?

“What good would it do?” Rust sounded like he hadn’t slept. He sounded unwell. Marty both hoped and feared he was the cause of his distress.

“Figured, you’d- I donno… wanna pursue it.”

“Burn it, for all I care,” Rust said coldly, his voice flat. The emotion Marty thought he’d heard was suddenly gone.

“I can’t do that, Rust. I can’t go back- If you’re not gonna do anything with it, I have- I can’t ignore this.” Marty ran his tongue over his bottom lip, already regretting the shit he was going to say. “I’m not saying you have to do this with me, but I _will_ look into with or without you.”

“ _Shit_ , Marty… Look at the balls on you.” It was like a switch had flipped. Marty could hear the amusement in Rust’s voice. The man was definitely drunk or high, but he couldn’t help the way his heart responded to the slightest warmth from this man.

“Fuck off, Rust,” he answered gently, smiling slightly. The expression felt strange on his face and he realised he hadn’t had much to smile about recently. He lay back on the bed and adjusted the phone against his ear. “How are you? Is it okay for me to ask that?”

“You keep- Why’s it always my decision, huh?” There was a rustling on Rust’s end; a grunt. In his mind’s eye, Rust was sprawled on his mattress just like Marty was. “I donno. I don’t have any answers for you. Shit’s fucked. I’m fucked. What’s any of it matter?”

The way he was talking worried Marty.

“What are you on?” he asked softly. It wasn’t an accusation and Rust must have sensed that, because he answered Marty without any further rancor.

“‘Ludes. Had a few drinks. Can’t sleep. Haven’t been sleeping. Don’t want to sleep… Don’t wanna be awake…” He was strung out; bad. “Be honest with you, Marty. Can’t tell if I’m awake now. I’ve lost track of the days. Slip through my fingers… like mist. Days were more solid with you in them. I was more solid… more everythin’…”

Marty had to pull the phone away from his ear and press a hand over his mouth. _Breathe_ , he told himself. He couldn’t fall apart on Rust now. He dragged the phone back up.

“What can I do?” No answer, just the sound of ragged breathing. “Do you need me to leave you alone? Do I need to call an ambulance?”

He really hoped he wouldn’t have to make a trip to the hospital. Gossip spread like wildfire there. Maggie’d know before sun-up that Marty had brought Rust in. That’d open a whole other can of worms.

“M’fine. Just high.” His voice sounded further away, like he’d pulled the phone away from his mouth or was passing out. “More questions. Always with the damn questions.”

“A’ight, Rust. No more questions. I want you to come over. I’ll send a taxi to get ya, bring ya here. We’ll get you straightened out.” If he had to take Rust to the ER, his place was closer. Rust hummed. “Stay on the line with me, now.”

He went to the kitchen and called a taxi company on his landline. There was some confusion with the half-asleep kid manning dispatch but as soon as he mentioned he was state police, the boy stopped asking questions.

“You still there? Rust?” he asked into his cell.

“M’ere, Marty. Got nowhere else t’go.” Marty didn’t point out that he always had a place with him. No matter the shit that had transpired between them, he’d be there for Rust if he needed Marty. No questions asked. He wondered if Rust knew that. Marty would make it a point for Rust to know.

“Talk to me, darlin’,” he whispered. He wanted to keep Rust awake. He wasn’t sure what he could do remotely if this was an overdose but he supposed it wasn’t the worst idea. “Whaddaya wanna talk about? Tell me about your summer of Steve McQueen.”

“Do you know how long- How long I wanted? Those early days after Texas… didn’t know…  wanted to kiss you or kill you.” Marty chuckled. He could relate. Those first three months had been particularly difficult. Rust had been so remote; so far above Marty. He’d been frustrating, intimidating, awe-inspiring.

“Spent so long under… forgotten how to breathe. It hurt… feeling. Helped your attention was elsewhere… Couldn’t touch you. Not then.”

“You can- You can touch me now,” Marty offered breathlessly.

“No- Can’t… Don’t you see? You don’t see. Never see what’s right in front of ya’.”

“Tell me, Rust.” There was no response. “Rust?”

The line had gone dead. Marty didn’t panic, but his heart was in his throat as he called back the taxi dispatch. He harassed the poor kid until he got verification that Rust had been picked up.

Thirty of the longest minutes of his life later, Marty hauled a half-conscious Rust out of the back of a yellow cab. He overtipped the confused driver, muttering apologies even as he walked away. Rust nuzzled into Marty’s neck as soon as they were through the door into the apartment.

“Did ya’ really think I could stay away?” he mumbled, lips moving against Marty’s skin. “Prob’ly wouldn’t’ve held out much longer… Marty… _Marty..._ ”

The way Rust said his name was like a prayer. Marty cast his gaze towards the ceiling, cursing whatever god may be up there. He didn’t want to hear this; not with Rust fucked up like this.

He wanted Rust - clear-eyed, preferably smiling, preferably kissing him - to say these things to him.

“Hush, darlin’. Let’s get you to bed.” Rust nodded and let himself be guided down the hall and into bed. Rust clung to him as Marty tried to undress him. He finally had to take ahold of Rust’s hands. Marty felt on the verge of tears, so he pressed lingering kisses to the back of Rust’s knuckles to keep his hands at bay. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Rust didn’t look like he believed him, but he stilled and Marty was able to get him stripped down to his boxers. After a brief moment of indecision, he did the same for himself and crawled into bed with Rust.

He’d known how thin Rust had gotten, but holding him like this really drove home how fragile the man was despite his strength. _Brittle_ , Marty thought. _Strong but brittle_. He indulged himself and ran the flat of his hand over Rust’s back, feeling the wings of his shoulder blades, the ridge of his spine, and the delineation of his ribs

“Want you to fuck me, Marty. Been wantin’ you to for-” Marty squeezed his eyes shut and pressed his lips against Rust’s mouth chastely. He couldn’t let Rust continue to say this shit, so he kissed him as gently as he could.

“Ask me again when you’re sober,” he whispered into Rust’s ear. “Doesn’t count unless you can remember it.”

Rust pulled back and looked at him hard.

“I will.” He sounded so certain of it that Marty gave in when Rust kissed him again. He gave in and kissed Rust until time lost meaning. Until Marty questioned his ability to say _no_ again if Rust pushed the issue. He was painfully hard and he knew Rust couldn’t miss that fact, but all Rust did was drag his lips against Marty’s - mouth and tongue and teeth. It was so sweet that it hurt Marty.

“I will,” Rust mumbled again when he finally broke the kiss, eyes struggling to stay open, like he couldn’t bear to look away from Marty. He ran his fingers along Marty’s jaw, over his lower lip, along the line of his cheek. His eyes followed the path of his fingertips.

“I’ll be here,” Marty reassured him and only then did Rust let his eyes flutter close, let sleep claim him with a sigh. Marty buried his nose in Rust’s hair. “I love you.”

 _It only counts if he remembers_ , he reminded himself. But _Marty_ would remember. He would never forget this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Goodbye by MuteMath.


	11. Burdened By Desire; Burdened By Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Partners" was as good a description as any. It was more than Marty thought he'd get, less than he wanted. He'd take it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's talk about the Lange case and what happened to Rust's daughter.

####  **Wednesday**

Marty woke long before Rust, but stayed in bed, barely daring to breathe. Rust was still curled inside the circle of his arms. He felt as though his chest might burst open with everything he felt for this idiotic man.

He finally slipped away to take a quick shower, convinced that Rust would disappear in his absence. But when he padded back into the bedroom, the only movement Rust had made was to wrap his arms around Marty’s pillow.

_ This _ , he admitted _. This is what I want. _

He called work from the landline and took a personal day. He remembered too well how it felt to wake to an empty bed. Then he settled back into bed - this time on the opposite side as usual since Rust had migrated over into his - and picked up the book that had been laying on his bedside table for months now.

He’d lost the plot since the last time he’d picked it up, so he flipped back to the beginning. He’d expected it to be hard to lose himself in the words, but the peace he felt - the quiet apartment, Rust breathing gently by his side - unmoored him and before he knew it, he was a half-dozen chapters in.

He was only drawn from the story when Rust rolled over in bed and pressed his face into Marty’s side. Marty looked down at him and cautiously laid his hand lightly on Rust’s head, trailing his fingers down his neck and stopping between his shoulder blades. He didn’t want to wake Rust, but the urge to touch him was almost a compulsion.

He could tell Rust was waking up by the way the energy in the room changed, like the low hum of powered-on electronics. He tried turning his attention back to the book, but it was useless now. He was holding his breath, just waiting for Rust to acknowledge their situation.

Rust rolled onto his back and stretched, back arching and sheet riding low on his hips. Yeah, there was no way Marty was getting back to his book now.

“Staring,” Rust rasped and Marty’s eyes snapped to meet his.

“You’re something to stare at.” There was no use denying it.

Rust rolled back towards Marty and reached up, plucking his reading glasses from his nose.

“Didn’t know you needed these.” Rust peered through the lenses, judging the prescription and then handed them back to Marty. Marty set the glasses and book on the bedside table.

“No one does,” Marty said settling on his side to face Rust so that they were mirrors of each other. Mere inches and a wall of shit better left unsaid separated them. Rust’s eyes were studying him in that perceptive way of his. Marty recognised it for what it was: Rust was trying to figure out what to say.

“Thank you,” he finally muttered. Marty wasn’t sure if he was more shocked at the brevity or the audible gratitude in Rust’s voice. He knew that it was a sweeping statement, a thanks for many small things that didn’t need to be listed.

“I’ll send you the bill,” he replied lightly. He didn’t want to bog the morning down with heavy emotions.

“I’m serious.”

“I know you are, Rust. You’re the most serious man in the world. I’m well aware.” He reached across the chasm between them and touched Rust’s cheek briefly. “Now, I have the day off. Do you want breakfast?”

Rust frowned at him as if Marty had said something puzzling. “Yes?”

Marty got up and dug through his dresser, throwing clean sweats and a tee at Rust’s face.

“Careful, your face’ll freeze like that.” Rust’s frown just deepened. Marty laughed at his own joke and made his way to the kitchen to make breakfast.

He knew that he could have probably had Rust; that Rust probably would have fucked him into the mattress but for the first time, Marty could see past that desire. He’d rather Rust stay the day, because he knew that if they fucked, Rust would be gone before the sweat even dried on Marty’s skin.

Besides, they had bigger things to worry about than what Marty’s dick wanted; bigger things than what Marty’s heart ached for.

That didn’t stop him from enjoying the sight of Rust sitting across from him at the kitchen table, wearing his clothes, and shovelling scrambled eggs into his mouth. And if Rust noticed Marty watching him, he was kind enough not to draw attention to it again.

After breakfast and what had to be the longest shower ever recorded, Rust joined him in the guest bedroom. There was a moment of hesitation, when Rust paused on the threshold. Marty looked up at him from where he was crouched over the file boxes. Rust looked uncertain and small in Marty's overlarge clothes.

Marty tried very hard not to dwell on how adorable he looked - Rust Cohle,  _ adorable? _ \- and nudged one of the boxes in Rust's direction.

“So… we’re doing this.” Rust lowered himself to his knees near the box.

“Seems like. Figured we could use this room as headquarters, unless-” Marty froze and looked up at Rust.

“‘Less what, Marty?” Rust slid the cardboard lid off with dexterous fingers. How did he always look like his every action was rehearsed? Marty licked his lips before he answered, aware that he was assuming an awful lot.

“‘Less you don’t want- my help.” He’d almost said  _ -to work with me _ .

“Think last night cleared that up, did it not?”

Marty hummed and pulled out a stack of photocopies. His hands were shaking.  _ Clear as fucking mud. Thanks, Rust _ .

“We’ll need a lock for all this,” he answered instead. He knew Rust would pick up on the topic change but he just didn’t know how to dig into what had happened between them. They had work to do. “Imma run to the hardware store and you can debrief me when I get back. If- if that sounds good?”

“Uh-huh.” Rust was already distracted, his tone the same distant one Marty remembered from their years together.

“Call me if you can think of anything else you- we need?” This time Rust didn’t even bother answering. He just raised one hand and made a shooing motion. He licked a finger on his other hand and began flicking through pages.

Marty’s heart stuttered. This was going to be hard; being so close to what he desperately wanted but not allowed to even want, let alone have. He heaved himself to his feet with a grunt and walked past Rust. On a whim, he touched Rust’s head fondly; letting his fingers lightly run through his hair.

Rust let him.

_ Thank you _ , he thought - to Rust, the universe… whatever deity may be listening.  _ Thank you _ .

\---

Marty grabbed the most secure locking doorknob the big-box home improvement store had in stock. On second thought, he also purchased a different style for his front door - one with a deadbolt and metal plate - hoping the property manager wouldn’t notice. While he was in hardware, he bought himself a toolkit, since the one they’d had at the house had been Maggie’s

His phone buzzed.

_ [1 MESSAGE} _

_ get some thicker curtains blackout if possible _

It was a good idea. Marty’s apartment was on the second floor and the only windows opened onto a two storey drop, but discretion needed to be their keyword.

While he was still looking at the message, trying to remember where in the store window treatments were, a second message appeared:  _ pushpins _

“Bossy,” Marty whispered to his phone with a smile even as he answered.

_ Yes, dear. _

Truthfully, Marty was happy to have someone to do shit for other than himself. His errands nowadays always had an unfocused, meandering and ultimately pointless air to them.

He managed to find some lined curtains that he was pretty sure would fit the standard window in the bedroom, even as the aproned sales associate tried to explain to him that there was no such thing-

“Okay, I get it. If they don’t fit. I’ll bring ‘em back. No big deal.” He tried to mitigate his sharpness of tone with a bright grin, but was pretty sure he ended up confusing the girl.  _ Oh well… _

He was very aware that just a few months ago, he'd have flirted with her, but now he had something much better waiting at home for him.

He just wanted to get out of this overly fluorescent place and back home -  _ to Rust _ . He’d already wasted over an hour in this shithole, so while he was checking out, he decided to grab lunch for them. He owed Rust a meal, after all.

He remembered a bar-b-que place that Rust had always been fond of and made a detour to grab ribs and more fries than an army could comfortably eat, and then headed back.

He bustled into the apartment, arms laden with bags, with a bellowed, “I’m back!”

No answer.

He deposited everything on the kitchen table and made his way back to the guest room and had to stop at what greeted him: The bed frame had been dismantled and was laying in pieces off to the side - god only knew where the mattress had gone - and one of the walls was already well on it’s way to being covered with photos and clipped newspaper articles and-

“Looks like I’m not getting my deposit back,” he said dryly, noting the words and headings Rust had scrawled on the beige paint with what looked like permanent marker.  _ SCARS _ and  _ YELLOW KING _ and  _ CARCOSA _ .

“I’ll pay ya’ back,” Rust muttered from where he was pacing, marker clamped between his teeth and ledger open in his hands. He was a picture of pure, focused, mid-case Rust. God, Marty’d missed this. 

The only thing that ruined the illusion were Marty’s stonewash jeans hanging low on Rust’s hips and almost hiding his bare feet, and the way the tee shirt Rust was wearing hung lopsided on his shoulders.

It ruined the illusion, but fuck, if it didn’t make Marty want to push Rust against the nearest vertical surface and kiss him. Wherever Rust had stored the mattress, it was good that it wasn’t still a temptation in the middle of the room. Marty didn’t need more of a distraction than the sweeping line of Rust’s trapezius bared by the stretched out neckhole of that damn shirt.

Marty stepped into the room and into Rust’s path. The man looked up, eyebrows raised as if actually surprised.

“Take a break. Lunchtime,” he said, plucking the notebook out of Rust’s arms and setting it carefully near the graffitied wall. Rust was still standing, staring at him when he righted himself. He took the marker from between Rust’s teeth. “Someone’s gotta feed you.”

The marker got tossed on top of the ledger and Marty walked away, sure that Rust would follow.

“What happened to the debrief?” Rust complained as he trailed after Marty.

“Food first, then I’ll listen to your theories.” Marty pulled out a chair and gestured for Rust to sit. Rust glared at him, but did as bidden.

It was a nice change of pace, Marty had to admit. He pulled the to-go containers out of their bag and set Rust’s in front of him. The man wasted no time in opening it and pulling out a rib.

“Not theories, Marty. Shit’s real. People are dying - women… children…”

Marty grabbed napkins, a beer for each of them, and sat himself catty-corner to Rust. He pushed the napkins between them, slid over the beer, and definitely didn’t think about how Rust angled himself to face Marty; their knees touching under the table.

“I know. And  _ you  _ still have no sense of humour.”

“Not about this.”

“Okay. Sorry. You’re right.” Marty opened up his own food and suddenly decided that ribs were an awful choice for what they were about to discuss. Across from him, Rust didn’t seem to have the same reluctance. “Go on. I’m listening.”

“Ninety-five, right? There was no physical evidence connecting Dora Lange to Ledoux’s place out in the woods.” Rust paused and cracked open his beer, fingers extended stiffly to avoid getting sauce on the can.

“Means she probably wasn’t killed out there,” Marty said into the silence while Rust drank. Rust held up a finger -  _ Bingo _ . Marty closed his food and sat back. “How the fuck did that not come up after?”

“Been telling you, somebody-  _ somebodies _ , most likely - don’t want those kinds of questions asked.” Marty nodded along but felt like a gullible fool for how a pat on the back and some minor accolades had kept him from digging any further back then. “Don’t be too hard on yourself, Marty. Took me years before I realised how smoothly it’d been swept under the rug. Real professional-like. Not the first time they’ve done something like this, I’m thinking.”

“They?” Marty asked on autopilot, popping the top on his own beer and taking a long swig. He had the feeling today was going to be a drinking day.

“Don’t rush me. So we got women and children goin’ missing - Dora, that Fontenot girl, the kids we found at Ledoux’s - but here’s the thing-” Rust licked his fingers and drew invisible lines in the air, eyes intense. “Those are only the dots we connected. There are dozens all along the coast.”

“Not to play devil’s advocate-” 

“No, do,” Rust said, voice sharp, and it surprised Marty enough that he looked up from his hands, where he’d been turning his beer can. “That’s how we always worked, wasn’t it? I run with shit and you hold me back- not in a bad way, just… keep me focused.”

Rust looked so wide-eyed and earnest that Marty had to bite down on the desire to lean over and kiss the man.

“Ah- yeah, okay… If you say so.” Marty had always thought Rust hated that part of their dynamic. He’d certainly often felt like a burden or a hindrance, but knowing this now… “Rust, women and children go missing all the time. Don’t mean they’re all connected.”

“I thought you’d say that,” Rust answered immediately, sitting back and pointing at Marty with a rib. “They do, but… what about the ones that disappeared from within ten-mile radii of Tuttle’s Wellspring Initiative schools?”

“Okay… okay. I hear ya.” Marty leaned forward, planting his elbows on the edge of the table and running his hands over his face. “Do people - specifically this demographic - disappear in equal numbers in other parts of the state?”

Rust dropped his food and leaned towards him in a way that told Marty he was asking the right questions.

“How many schools were there?”

“Fourteen,” Rust said, low and intense. He wiped his hands haphazardly with a napkin and stood. “Come on.”

“But-”

“Come on!” Rust demanded, grabbing Marty’s hand and dragging him along.

Marty didn’t - Couldn’t.  _ Wouldn’t -  _ think about how Rust’s calloused fingers felt in his as he was dragged back to the guest room. Rust dug around in the detritus on the floor until he found a folded map. He hastened to unfold it and Marty stepped forward to help, holding one corner up against the wall as Rust continued.

“Now, I’ve covered a surface area - pulled runaways in-state and missing persons.” The map showed Louisiana in a level of detail Marty hadn’t seen since his school days. On it, Rust had made markings - dots and exes and crosses - in some sort of colour code Marty didn’t quite understand yet. Around each of these, a careful circle had been drawn The ten-mile radius Rust had mentioned earlier?

“Now, if you’ll notice, there’s twice as many along the bayous. I don’t know why.” Rust gestured along the coastline. “Hell, someone should do a study as to why.”

He looked across at Marty expectantly. There was hope in that look; nervousness.

_ Rust cares what I think. _ The thought left Marty blinking for a few moments more than he normally would need.

It was a lot to take in. There were a lot of markings and if each of them represented a missing person… but how far back had Rust gone? And were all these in proximity to a Wellspring school? Marty felt his natural skepticism taking over.

“You’re throwing a lot of stats at me. If there were fourteen schools - all presumably in poorer parishes - wouldn’t that correlate with areas around the bayous?” Rust looked down and rested his free hand on his cocked hip. “Not that I don’t believe you. I-”

“This is where I start sounding like a conspiracy theorist,” Rust muttered, more to the floor than to Marty.

Marty stepped towards him, letting his corner of the map drop. Rust looked up at him with just his eyes. There was doubt there and uncertainty. Rust didn’t think Marty’d believe him if he went on. It made Marty want to draw Rust in and prove to him- what? He found himself stepping closer and into Rust’s personal space.

“Difference is that I’m on board this time.  _ Something _ is going on. I’m just trying to figure out what.” Rust cleared his throat and busied himself refolding the map.

“I keep circling back to the Lange case and the way Tuttle so eagerly stuck his nose into it. It wasn’t much different than the dozen other prosts that went missing that year. The devil’s nests, the crown… sure, it was a bit odd, but to assign a task force?” Rust was nearly ranting now, voice growing faster and more insistent as he went. “Remember Charlie Lange telling us about what Ledoux told him about  _ good hunting _ ? A group of men? Sacrifices?”

Marty touched Rust’s hands where they were compulsively smoothing over the creases of the map.

“Hey, stop. Let’s get it hung up.” Marty hurried back to the kitchen and grabbed the bag of supplies he’d bought. On a whim, he got them both another beer.

“Here,” he said, handing Rust the beers. He took the map and unfolded it again. He held it up against the wall perpendicular to the wall wallpapered with evidence. “This good?”

He looked over his shoulder, only to find Rust staring at him strangely. He nodded slowly, so Marty popped a pin into two corners. It’d work for now. Rust could always move it later. He stepped back and took one of the beers.

“Continue.”

“I think Tuttle recognised the scene; that damn tableau we found under that tree - woman, hands bound, the spiral, the crown, the devil’s nests.” Rust set his beer on the windowsill unopened and stepped to the map, pointing at the location where they’d found Dora Lange. Then he looked over his shoulder at Marty. “That’s why he came down here jiminy quick with a fucking taskforce and-”

He turned to fully face Marty, crossing his arms over his chest. Everything about him screamed defensiveness.

“And that’s why he tripped out when I talked to him earlier this year.”

Marty took a drink of his beer and thought about that scene, so close to when shit went sour that the memory was tinged with bitterness even though it happened before. It occurred to him that it was the last time he’d seen Rust before…

_ Before you punched him out in that parking lot, you fucking coward _ , he told himself.

“He lied,” Marty said simply into his beer can.

“Damn right, he fucking lied. I didn’t  _ brace  _ him. We had a perfectly pleasant chat in which he sidestepped all my questions and then went crying to our bosses.” Rust jabbed a finger at the other wall; at a name under Rust’s roughly written  _ The Yellow King _ . “There’s a reason this fuck chose poor schools. There’s at least one cover-up of child pornography. I have a witness that will vouch to that. They damn near ruined his life when he reported it. That revival preacher? Theriot?”

Marty did remember. He remembered the smell of that muddy field and the unease of all those sweating bodies under that tent. He didn’t want to be overly swayed - because he was already biased - so he looked at the evidence wall. On it was repeated the same few family names:  _ Tuttle, Childress, Ledoux…  _

“So you’re thinking, what? That this is a family tradition born out of… superstition? Faith?” It sounded ridiculous to his ears, but then he remembered those two hicks in the woods and their blind faith and half-mad words.

“It’s all supposition on my part, but yeah, powerful families consolidating power through fear. It wouldn’t be too far a leap to say that some of them probably believe the ritual works, but I’m betting far more - the ones that really matter - get their jollies from it.”

“That’s sick,” Marty said, pulling a involuntary face. He didn’t want to think about all the families that had lost kids or - almost as bad - had children that had slowly been hollowed out by what Rust was hinting at. How many children lived with this for every one that was killed? Marty turned his back on Rust, his imagination doing more damage than the evidence he was being presented with.

“It is.” Rust’s hand was gentle on Marty’s shoulder and Marty let himself be turned. He looked into Rust’s blue eyes. “But we can’t pretend it isn’t happening. Not anymore.”

They couldn’t. Marty wasn’t sure how he was going to do this - show his face in the precinct while working to bring down the very people that employed him and ran the government. He gripped Rust’s bicep and squeezed, taking strength from Rust’s very presence.

“Let's get started,” he whispered.

And so they did.

Marty left Rust to his boxes and set about replacing the lock on the door. He wasn’t much of an ace with shit like this, but it gave Marty an excuse to watch Rust. He’d always loved the single-mindedness of the man; how he could pursue a thread - or two, or three - for hours on end. Rust was as much a reason for Marty’s success as Marty was, maybe even more. He hadn’t made much of himself before Rust had come around.

He managed to remove the old hardware and then just sat there in the doorway, watching Rust move between piles of paper. Every once in a while, he’d stop and pluck something off the floor, then attach it to the wall. It was like he was assembling the world’s most macabre jigsaw puzzle.

Marty was fascinated.

“You’re staring again,” Rust said with his back to Marty, head bent over his ledger.

“I am,” Marty said softly. “Good to see you like this. Good to see you.”

Rust hummed skeptically.

“You always used to do the same: stare,” Marty mused. Rust had, back in the day. Marty had only caught him at it a few times; had always assumed that the man had been lost in thought and he’d just happened to be in his way.

“I did,” Rust admitted. But not anymore. It’d stopped months before shit went bad. He couldn’t remember exactly when. Around the same time Rust had ended things with Laurie. Marty wanted to ask why he’d done it and why he’d stopped. Rust saved him the embarrassment and turned around. “Still do. Just better at hiding it than you.”

Marty’s mouth went dry.

“Why’d- Why do you?”

Rust snapped his notebook shut, securing it with its elastic. He strode over and knelt next to Marty. He seemed very deliberately to  _ not  _ be looking at Marty.

“Never know what stupid shit's gonna come outta that mouth of yours.” He took the phillips head screwdriver from Marty’s limp fingers. “You’re making a hash out of this shit, Marty. Let me…”

Marty opened the packaging for the new doorknob and looked on.

“The real question is why you're only noticing it now?” Rust asked as he was sliding the two sides of the hardware together. His tone was off-hand and casual, but the warmth that rose to Marty’s cheeks was anything but.

So he ignored it, like the coward he was. In just a few minutes, they had a locking door for their evidence room.

“Okay, you’re gonna have to teach me how to do that,” he said. Rust reached down and pulled the instruction pamphlet from the packaging, thwacking Marty in the middle of his forehead with it. Marty grinned. “You can’t expect me to read.”

“My apologies. I forgot you don’t know how.” Rust stood and offered Marty a hand up. When they were both standing, Rust softened. “I’ll show you with the front door, deal?”

Rust turned out to be a pretty good teacher. He let Marty get as far as he could on his own and then gently pointed out the next step without seeming condescending. It surprised Marty.

“You’d be good with kids,” Marty mused aloud as he shimmied the chrome security plate onto the door. It took far longer than it should have for him to realise his misstep. He jerked his gaze up to Rust, who was looking at him with empty eyes. “Shit… I’m- I’m sorry.”

Rust didn’t address his apology right away. Instead he handed Marty the two halves of the mechanism. Marty took them and tried to slide the interlocking parts together through the hole in the door, but he was distracted by how still Rust was beside him. Finally, Rust took pity on him and guided Marty’s hands just right so that the two halves clicked together.

“I forget sometimes too,” he breathed, then in a normal voice, continued with his instructions. “Tighten that and that.”

After they were done, Marty had four keys to two doors. He didn’t even have to think about it - that is to say, he refused to overthink it. He put a key for each of the doors on to a keyring and pressed them into Rust’s palm. Nothing needed to be said. He could tell from Rust’s expression just how much it meant and how idiotic he thought Marty was for the gesture.

Marty loved that expression.

“Now… let’s finish lunch and you can tell me what we’re going to do,” Marty said, fingers still held gently by Rust’s hand.

“Do?” Rust asked, eyes moving down to stare at their joined hands, brow furrowed.

“I assume you have a gameplan.” It took everything Marty had to walk away from Rust, but it didn’t escape his notice that Rust was reluctant to let go of Marty’s fingers.

\---

They worked the rest of the day getting the evidence organised and Marty up to speed. Rust refused to tell Marty everything and it was as close to an argument they’d had since Rust had walked away from him on that damn bike path.

“I have a few leads I want to chase down,” Rust said with his back turned. Marty stopped at the careful, casual tone of Rust’s voice. “I’ll be gone for a week or two.”

“Where?” Marty asked, shocked. Had Rust been planning this before? If Marty hadn’t reached out to him, would Rust have vanished into this investigation. Rust sighed and turned, keeping his eyes downcast.

“I can’t tell you. Just in case.”

“Wait… you saying you can’t trust me?” Marty was hurt. He thought they’d reached a point where this was an unspoken assumption between the two of them.

“Don’t be dense, Marty. Course I can trust you.” He walked to Marty and took the sketch of the green-eared man from Marty’s hands. “It’s to protect you.”

“Fuck that. I don’t care-”

“Well, I fuckin’ do,” Rust hissed, eyes flicking up to meet Marty’s eyes but unable to hold them. “I’m giving you plausible deniability. Because if shit goes south - no matter how careful I am - this trail leads back to you. I won’t do that to you.”

Marty wanted to throttle the idiot, but he was also touched, so he sucked in a long breath through his nose and tried to calm himself.

“Okay… Okay, Rust. Say this does go tits up. What am I s’posed to do? Sit around with my thumb up my ass? Give me something.” Marty touched Rust’s shoulder, thumb brushing the skin just above the scoop of his collar. Rust flinched but was resolutely quiet, and it was this that burst the dam. Marty pushed away from Rust, forcing the man a step back. 

“Plausible deniability, Marty,” Rust repeated yet again through gritted teeth.

“I can’t let you go off on your own and-” The thought of Rust getting hurt, alone; the thought of Marty never knowing what had happened… “What if you become one of- one of them?”

Marty swallowed around the lump in his throat and met Rust’s stern eyes; he swallowed down the urge to push up against Rust and keep him there. He couldn’t live with himself should Rust become one of the nameless missing.

_ Don't disappear on me again. _ Marty didn’t know if he could handle that outcome. It awoke so many confusing emotions inside him that he couldn’t help but lash out in defense.

“Well, fuck you. Goddamnit, Rust. S’not like I’m not a detective. I’ll eventually figure out where you went and by then-” Marty swept an arm to indicate the room. “I may not be as smart as you but-”

“I didn’t factor you into my plan,” Rust whispered and it cut through Marty’s rage as effectively as if Rust had shouted at him. “It wasn’t an option before… I wasn’t… I was tryna forget all this. I thought- if I ever went after it, it’d be because…”

Marty held his breath, willing Rust to continue.

“I knew eventually, I’d grow tired enough or brave enough or just want it over with.” Rust finally -  _ finally _ \- met Marty’s gaze. “How long can a man live with this in his head? Figured I’d go mad or-”

And Marty finally understood: Rust had believed he’d die, trying to solve this one. There wasn’t a hint of hyperbole in those steely eyes. He was serious.

“That ain’t gonna happen. Not while I’m around,” Marty said, his voice overly loud with emotion. “If you can’t tell me where you’re going, I’ll take time off - god knows, I’m due enough of it. You call me - day or night - and I’m there.”

He moved closer to Rust as he spoke until he was looking slightly up at his partner. The air in the room was thick with tension - Marty was half expecting Rust to reject this offer, half expecting to be kissed. Rust was certainly looking at him with a fond exasperation that could prelude either action.

“God help me, Rust-” And he wasn’t sure how he’d planned on ending that sentence:  _ If you get murdered, I’ll kill you? If you don’t kiss me right now, I may just die? _

Maybe somewhere in between, if Marty was really honest.

But they were interrupted by a knock on the front door. They both looked towards the sound and then back at each other.

“Shit!” It hit Marty all at once. “It’s Wednesday. The girls.”

Rust trailed behind him, pausing to lock the guest bedroom.

“Shit… I didn’t realise it was so late. Sorry, Rust,” Marty babbled, turning at the end of the hall to try an explain himself.

“S’ok. I’ll go. You have fun with your girls,” Rust smiled at him softly and shoved his hands into his pockets. “Just let me get my shit out of your bedroom before you answer the door.”

“Good idea.” Marty pointed at him. “What would I do without you?”

He’d meant it as a lighthearted joke, but it came out far more serious.

“Donno, Marty. Could say the same to you,” Rust called back from the bedroom. Marty’s brain tripped over the answer, but before he had time to recover, Rust was padding back down the hall, shoes and wallet in hand. He steadied himself with one hand on Marty’s arm as he slipped the shoes on. “I shoved my clothes in your hamper. Don’t wanna give the wrong impression leaving with an armful of dirty clothes.”

_ Is it the wrong impression _ ? Marty wanted to tease but again, it felt far too close to a truth it seemed they were ignoring.

“Right. Yeah. You can grab ‘em next time.”

_ Next time. _ There was going to be a next time. Marty hadn’t fucked everything up after all. Now, all he had to do was make sure to keep his goddamn hands to himself and his love under lock and key. Marty wished he'd been able to purchase something to help him with  _ that _ , but all he had was his willpower.

“Answer the door,” Rust said, walking towards the kitchen. “I’m gonna call a cab. No idea what happened to my cell.”

Marty reminded himself to talk to Rust about some way to contact him while he was in the wind. He wasn’t going to be able to focus without contact. Marty didn’t do well with open-ended indefinites.

He plastered a smile onto his face and opened the front door. As soon as he saw Audrey and Macie though, the smile gained some life.

“Hey-a, girls! Come on in. You’ll never guess who’s here.” Marty turned, ushering them past, so he caught Rust leaning out of the kitchen. He was tethered to the wall by the landline but he gave a tense smile and a wave.

“Rust!” Macie called, slapping her hand against his on her way to the living room. Marty couldn’t help the flip of his stomach at the look of surprise on Rust’s face.

Audrey stopped by Marty. She was giving him a look eerily reminiscent of Maggie. Marty locked the front door, schooled his expression, and turned to face her.

_ You just made up. Don’t be a jackass, Marty _ , he reminded himself.

“What do you want for dinner?” he asked, behaving like this was all absolutely normal.

“Dad-” He hesitated and looked back at her. She was frowning. “Mom said-”

Marty sighed, interrupting her; not meaning to. He didn’t want to fucking know what Maggie had said about Rust, or him, or Rust and him.

“Sorry,” he immediately said and gestured for her to go on. She narrowed her eyes. She definitely took after her mother.

“Mom said you guys weren’t talking.” Something inside Marty unclenched. “Said you… punched him?”

“Ah- yes… I did do that,” Marty admitted, rubbing the back of his neck and looking at his feet. He forced himself to meet Audrey’s eyes. “I apologised. We talked about it.”

He glanced towards the kitchen to where Rust was leaning in the doorway, phone still pressed to his ear. Marty’d bet good money that the call was long over and he was eavesdropping now.  _ Asshole. _

“He’s forgiven me… I think.” He saw the corner of Rust’s mouth twitch and found himself grinning. “We’re friends now.”

He looked back to Audrey, wiping the smile off his face and raising his eyebrows at her in a  _ That good enough for you _ expression. She rolled her eyes. Marty knew he was fucked no matter what. Maggie would know Rust was here and probably put Audrey on the spot about it.

“Whatever.” She headed after her sister, most likely to steal the remote and control of the television. “I vote pizza.”

He only hoped she’d be as blase about the whole thing to Maggie.

“Seconded,” Macie hollered from the couch. Marty walked to lean next to Rust. The man wasn’t even pretending to be on his call anymore. He bumped his shoulder against Rust’s.

“Sure you don’t wanna stay for pizza?” He hoped he didn’t sound too hopeful. He knew that Rust wouldn’t stay, but he wanted him to know that he was welcome, regardless.

“Nah,” Rust replied, finally hanging up the phone. He glanced over his shoulder down the hallway at the girls on the couch. “That what we are, Marty? Friends?”

He looked back to Marty. Marty shrugged.

“Not sure what I’d call us…” he ventured in response. He wasn’t sure he could put into words what Rust was to him and he sure as hell wasn’t going to put words into Rust’s mouth. He wasn’t going to be asking that big of a question of the man any time soon, that was for sure. “ _ Partners _ still good enough?”

“Yeah…” Rust sighed, leaning his back against the casing of the kitchen entrance. He motioned with his head towards Marty’s kids. “Don’t think I’m ready for that.”

“Of course. Yeah, sorry. Wasn’t thinking.” Kids were a lot - and what with Rust’s past - besides Maggie had always been there as a buffer between Rust and the kids. Marty was no good at that shit. A horn honked three times outside, pulling them both from their awkward pause.

“My cab.” Rust pushed away from the wall and past Marty, arm brushing his. Marty followed him to the door, stepping outside with Rust to give them some privacy.

“So when do you think you’ll be leaving?” Marty asked, acutely aware of the girls just down the hall. It didn’t stop him from wanting to do something reckless and stupid.

No, what stopped him was that he now knew the consequences of such impulsive actions. He was tired of repeating the same mistakes and expecting different outcomes. Not again. Not with Rust.

“Next few days. Gotta give notice at the bar, make arrangements, call in a few favours… you know…”

Marty got the distinct impression that Rust was stalling so he obliged. He wasn’t in any more of a hurry to part.

“Will I see you again? Before?”

“Yeah,” Rust said lightly. “Of course.”

But the fact that he didn’t say when or where made Marty believe it was more of a platitude than a promise.

“Okay, then. Okay… See you soon, Rust.” 

Rust’s hand rose and for a moment, Marty was convinced that Rust was going to reach out to him; touch him. But then he was turning away.

“See you soon, Marty,” he called back over his shoulder, raised hand giving a half-hearted wave.

Marty stood, holding onto the door for balance while he watched Rust walk away; watched until Rust ducked into his cab; watched as the taillights shepherded Rust away.

He didn’t like the feeling of finality that settled into his stomach at the sight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Masks by Night Riots.


	12. Muted Whisper Of Things You Feel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What if they just stopped resisting? What if they gave in?

####  **Wednesday**

Marty and the girls ended up watching television and eating pizza. Macie sat on the floor and did her homework on the coffee table while Marty and Audrey shared the couch. During one of the numerous commercial breaks, Audrey nudged him with her foot.

“Mom’s not gonna like it,” she said under her breath, still facing the television. “Rust.”

Marty let his hand drop to Audrey’s ankle and squeezed. He wasn’t sure how much Audrey had intuited from the few minutes Rust had been there.

“Not to be rude, kid,” he started, mitigating the patronising tone with another fond squeeze. “S’none of your mother’s business.”

“I don’t get why she’s so angry at him too, is all.” Audrey turned her body towards him so that she was sitting propped against the arm of the couch. “He didn’t do anything wrong. They were close, weren’t they?”

“Yeah… yeah, they were,” Marty sighed. Even if he could be completely honest with her about the shit that went down, he wasn’t sure she’d understand. “Guilty by association, I s’pose.”

Audrey drew both of her knees to her chest and rested her chin on top of them, really looking at him now.

“So it’s true?”

Well, if  _ that _ wasn’t a loaded question. How much did she already know? How much had Maggie told her?

“I did a lot of shit I regret,” he told her, aiming for simple - if vague - honesty. “Your mom’s right to be angry at me. I didn’t treat her very well a lot of the time… didn’t treat a lot of people very well - you, Rust… you know? But I don’t regret making up with Rust. I’m lucky he even gave me the chance.”

“He’s a good guy,” Audrey said absently. The show was back on and she laid her head on her knees to watch it.

“The best. Though he would say otherwise.” Marty had to bite back on the urge to say more on the subject of Rust. They’d be working together so Rust would be a figure in their lives soon enough. Anything he said now would just make its way back to Maggie in some fucked up version of telephone.

“Yeah, well… Seems like the guys who think they’re good are the worst ones.” It was said wistfully, Audrey’s attention more on the show than what she was saying, but it struck Marty as pretty damn profound for a seventeen-year-old.

There was a long way to go before he had the sort of relationship with Audrey that he wanted, but regardless, he was pretty sure that she was going to be just fine, with or without him.

\---

####  **Thursday**

Marty was just settling into bed when his cell rang. He plucked it from where it was charging on his bedside table and looked at the preview window.

_ [RUST CALLING] _

Marty flipped the phone open.

“Hey.”

_ “Hey.” _

“Why you calling?” Marty had so much that he wanted to say and couldn't help that the question burst out before he could reel himself back. He tried again. “Couldn't wait to speak to me?”

_ “No, I couldn't.” _

Marty sat up. “What's going on? Is something wrong?”

_ “You're asking me that after today?”  _ Rust took a deep breath.  _ “We really doing this?” _

“Seems like.” Marty could tell Rust was working up to something, so he waited, sucking on his teeth. “That gonna be a problem?”

_ “Last night-” _

“Figured it was the drugs. Don't mention it.” Marty didn't see a point. They'd covered this. Sure, shit would probably be awkward for a while, but Marty was no-so-secretly pleased that he got to work with Rust again.

He wasn't fooling himself. He knew where they stood. But that wouldn't stop him from enjoying what he was given.

_ “Marty… I want to mention it.” _

“Listen, I'm not going to make this difficult. Our work is more important than my…  _ histrionics _ .” He couldn't resist making a joke of it.

_ “I wanted you to fuck me.”  _ Marty pinched the bridge of his nose and sunk down into bed. Why was Rust doing this?  _ “Last night and back in ninety-five… all those years in between. I want you to still.” _

“Rust…” Marty groaned. “Come on, man. Are you-?”

Rust didn't mean this; couldn't mean any of this.

_ “I'd fuck you right now, if I were there.” _

_ Goddamnit, Rust.  _ Marty reached over and turned off the bedside lamp, keeping his eyes closed. They weren't doing this.

_ “You'd like that, wouldn't you?” _

_ Yes... _

“Rust, what are you doing?” Marty rested his hand on his chest. His heart was pounding.

_ “Tryna get off. Called phone sex, Marty. Keep up.” _

“Thought we weren't doin’ this anymore.”

_ “Doesn't count.”  _ Rust sighed and Marty could tell in that sigh, that Rust was touching himself.  _ “Marty…” _

_ Jesusfuckin- _

“I’d kiss you again,” Marty whispered, giving in.

_ “You can't say shit like that. Come on. Don't-” _

“Why not? We bein’ honest? You wanna fuck me. Yeah. I want that, but I wanna kiss you too.” Marty was already breathing hard. “I want both, Rust.”

Silence.

He'd pushed too hard again.

_ “What else?” _

What else?  _ Everything _ , he wanted to say.

“Remember when you fucked me on the couch?” Rust made a soft sound. “I want that again - face-to-face. I wanna be able… wanna see you come apart again.”

_ “Fuck, Marty…”  _ Rust moaned.  _ “You touching yourself?” _

“No… I haven't- not for a while. I-” He chuckled, embarrassed. What could he say? That he’d been too hung up and heartbroken over Rust to even get it up lately? He licked his lips and closed his eyes. “I bought a toy, thinking- I donno… that it'd do.”

_ “A toy?” _

Marty had only gotten as far as unpackaging and washing the thing before the inadequacy of it had hit him. He didn’t  _ just  _ want to be filled. He wanted to be touched and fucked; he desperately,  _ desperately _ needed that.

He needed Rust.

So he’d tucked it away again and tried to forget.

“A dildo, Rust,” Marty groaned. Rust sucked in a surprised breath; almost sounded like he choked on it.

_ “Get it. I want hear you use it.”  _ Rust's end of the line had grown quiet. His voice was sharper; focused.

“Really?” But Marty was already scooting off the bed and digging into his sock drawer. He grabbed the black bag and dumped it onto the comforter. He was glad it was dark. It was easier to do this if he didn't have to  _ see _ exactly what he was about to shove up his ass. Somehow  _ this _ was weirder to him than Rust bending him over. 

Something really was wrong with him… 

Marty settled back into bed, shimmying his boxers down over his hips and kicking them off.

“Okay, got it-” Marty made himself comfortable, running his hand down his stomach. He was already half hard from just Rust’s dirty talk.

_ “Describe it.” _

Shit… the man certainly liked to embarrass him, and fuck, if it didn’t get Marty off. He stroked himself once and could tell that he was going to go off like a shot if he wasn’t careful.

“Fuck… uhm… I donno. It's a dildo.” Marty hefted the thing in his hand. There was no mistaking it for the real thing - inanimate and cold and unresponsive.

_ “Bigger than me?” _

Marty's breath caught in his throat. Was that jealousy?

“No, I- as close to you as possible.” He felt his face heat as he admitted it.

_ “Christ, Marty. Sure do know how to make a guy feel special.” _

“Special...?” Fuck, Rust really didn't know. He wanted to reach down the phone line and slap some sense into him. “God, do you know what I'd do to you if you were here?”

_ “Tell me.”  _ Rust sounded breathless _. “How do you want me?” _

Marty wanted to do so much to- with Rust; wanted Rust to do so much to him. He put his phone on speaker and laid it on the pillow next to his head.

“It gonna bore you if I choose missionary?” Marty uncapped the lube and slicked up the silicone cock. He felt vaguely ridiculous, but then Rust was talking to him and it was like he was  _ there _ .

_ “It's a classic for a reason.” _ Suddenly it didn’t matter that the cock in his hand wasn’t Rust’s. It was an extension of him. It was easy to imagine that this was Rust he was touching; easy to picture Rust on his knees between Marty's legs. It'd be perfect for touching him and kissing him. 

So he told Rust, haltingly.

“I wish- wish you were- Wish this was you in my hand…” Marty reached down and brushed the head of the dildo against himself. The angle like this was awkward but it was worth it to be able to imagine Rust getting him on his back like this. At the same time, he cupped his erection. He whined softly and heard Rust gasp in response. “I love it so much when you fuck me. I- I’m sorry, Rust… That I need it so much… That I need yo-”

_ “Wanna be inside you _ ,” Rust panted. “ _ Wanna grab your hips and push into you, like before. Can you see that?” _

Marty wished he wasn't limited to imagining it. He pushed the dildo slowly into himself, gasping. “Fuck yes…  _ God _ , wish you were here. Wish this was you…”

_ “You fucking yourself?” _ Rust’s voice was wrecked; gravelly.

“You are,” Marty breathed, because behind his eyelids - in the dark - it  _ was _ Rust.

_ “I can be…”  _ Rust pleaded and Marty’s eyes snapped open.  _ “Don’t… Marty… I don’t wanna hold back anymore.” _

“Don't fucking tease me, Rust,” Marty hissed, pumping once simultaneously with both hands and nearly gagging on the pleasure of it. Fuck, he'd needed this. “What I wouldn’t give…”

_ “Ask me, _ ” Rust demanded.

“Fuck me. God, please… Rust, please fuck me.” Marty wasn’t sure if they were still talking hypothetically or if Rust was actually offering. Soon, it wouldn’t matter because Marty wasn’t going to last at this rate.

_ “Yeah. Okay. Keep doin’ what you're doin’, baby. Don't you dare come without me though.” _ Marty keened, realising just what Rust meant. He meant to come over and fuck him. The man was going to kill him and Christ, Marty would thank him for it.  _ “Twenty minutes. Breathe.” _

The phone call cut off and Marty was left alone with his hard-on and a raging desire to come. But he gritted his teeth and kept his movements slow and methodical. He was in no rush - or so he told himself. Marty was horrible at denying himself, but for Rust-

Rust was on his way. Rust wanted to fuck him; wanted to kiss him; wanted  _ Marty _ .

The slick, smooth repetition was almost hypnotic. Time stretched and became formless as his focus narrowed down to the coiling tension; the anticipation. He released his cock and gripped his hand in the sheets. He forced himself to breathe through the fire in his veins. And he tried, very hard, not to expect more than a good fuck. He wouldn’t hold Rust to the shit he said in the heat of passion.

They both needed this.

_ Don't come. Don't you fucking dare- _

The sound of Rust's key in the front door snapped him out of his trance. The man had to have sped the whole way here. Rust's step was measured as it came down the hall. Marty propped himself up on an elbow.

“Rust, please…” And then he was there, framed in the doorway of Marty's bedroom. He gripped the jamb, fingers tightening on the casing to the point Marty could hear the composite creak.

_ Please… give in. _

Rust stepped towards the bed, jacket falling from his shoulders and hitting the floor. He toed out of his shoes, fumbled at his jeans. Marty reached for him when he knelt on the bed, and pulled him in by his shirt. A jolt of lust shot through him as he realised Rust was still wearing his clothes; had been touching himself to the thought of Marty while wearing Marty’s clothes.

Rust resisted. He looked scared and wild-eyed; like he wasn’t entirely in control of his faculties. Marty knew the feeling. He twisted his fist in the fabric and tugged. Rust's hand was on his shoulder, forcing him back down again the bed. Marty shoved at Rust's jeans with his legs. They were nearly grappling. Marty wasn't sure if they were fighting to get closer or to keep apart.

Then Rust's free hand was between Marty's legs, gripping the base of the dildo.

“ _ Please _ ,” Marty gasped, his back arching, trying to grind down onto the toy. Marty wanted Rust to take him. He wanted rough and fast and hard and  _ nownownow _ .

Rust's hand slid from Marty's shoulder to the centre of his chest; a caress. He leaned down and brushed his lips against Marty's, carefully drawing the dildo out of him. He was so gentle that tears prickled at the corners of Marty's eyes.

“ _ Please _ ,” Marty whispered against Rust’s lips. It was nearly a sob.

Marty's brain clung to flashes of images: the fan of Rust's eyelashes against his cheek, the flatness of his stomach, the curve of Rust's erection. Rust was so fucking beautiful and far more than he deserved.

God, he loved this man. If he could have this man - if this man gave himself to Marty - he’d spend the rest of his fucking life trying to prove himself worthy.

Rust tossed the toy aside, then crowded close. He wedged his knees under Marty's thighs, tilting Marty's hips. His hand was in Marty's hair and he kissed him properly. Marty let go of his death grip on Rust's shirt and reached around, pulling him in.

Rust pushed into him and they both froze, mouths close, sharing breath. Rust's eyes darted, like a startled animal. Marty pressed his lips to Rust's deliberately.

“It's okay,” he whispered in a tone that meant  _ I love you _ . “I got you.”

All of the resistance went out of Rust at once and he fell onto Marty. Marty was there to catch him, wrapping his arms around Rust, spreading his legs to accommodate him. He kissed him with every ounce of feeling he had in his pathetic, used-up heart.

And this time, Rust met him halfway.

With this compromise, their harried urgency fell away until all that was left was Marty's hand in Rust's hair, Rust's lips against Marty's skin, their palms pressed together, fingers interlocking. Slow, like they had all the time in the world - Marty knew there'd never been enough time - and infused with meaning, like there was doom lurking on the horizon.

And it was there. It was coming. Marty knew that they'd meet it together.

\---

Afterwards, Rust didn’t put any distance between them. If anything, he pushed closer. Marty was hot and sweaty, but he couldn’t get enough of this. He didn’t think he could ever get enough of this - Rust with his walls down, taking what he wanted, giving all he could.

But he was still Rust - pessimist, realist, and consummate killjoy.

“This isn’t sustainable,” Rust whispered, kissing Marty’s clavicle. Marty tipped his head back.

“Who says?” he sighed.

“Human history,” Rust replied gravely, pulling back to look down at Marty. “Our personal history.”

Marty ran his hands up Rust’s biceps, one hand trailing to the nape of Rust’s neck and the other covering the rune tattoo over his heart. He pressed his hands together, as if he could hold onto Rust when there was so much about the man that was intangible.

“Fuck history,” Marty said, pulling Rust down for another kiss. He kept his palm flat over Rust’s chest so he could feel the man’s heart beating. With each pulse, Marty felt its promise and its fragility.

_ Alive. Alive. A-live. _

Rust slowly and reluctantly pulled away after long minutes.

“I could die, Marty. I could end up arrested. What I have planned-” He pressed his forehead to Marty’s. “You need to know.”

“You won’t,” Marty insisted and Rust grimaced.

“Goddammit, your capacity for denial is truly-”

“I’m not denying you could. I’m sayin’...” Rust blinked open his eyes, still frowning. “I’m sayin’ that I have faith you won’t.”

Rust huffed an exasperated laugh. “You finally choose to believe in something and you pick me, of all options?”

Marty gave him a crooked smile, the words he wanted to say poised to make themselves heard.

“Nah, you asshole.” Marty gathered Rust in close, despite the mess, and muttered into his hair. “Belief ain’t a decision. Can’t help myself with you.”

Rust expression grew sombre, eyes searching Marty’s face.

“What?” Marty asked.

“I know the feeling, is all.”

What could Marty say to that other than to kiss Rust once again, and continue kissing him.

“Stay the night,” he muttered into the kiss. “Stay for as long as you can.”

Rust stayed, falling asleep on his side of the bed. It was the first time Marty’d been allowed this and the reality of it - Rust sprawled on his stomach and completely vulnerable - clenched it: Marty needed this. 

_ Rust _ .

Rust in his life, in his bed, working alongside him… In whatever way Rust would allow, Marty would take it. He supposed that should feel pathetic, but it was kind of nice, not having to define whatever this was. After tonight, Marty could feel in his gut that Rust wasn’t going anywhere of his own volition.

\---

In the morning, Marty got ready for work while Rust watched him from bed.

“Feels weird, doin’ this,” he said as he knotted his tie. He could see Rust propped up against the pillows in the bathroom mirror.

“The fuckin’?” Rust asked, touching his lips with the first two fingers of his hand. It was a gesture Marty recognised. He wanted a cigarette. “Or the rest of it?”

The rest of it, being the vigilantism and law-breaking, but also the fucking. The incredible fucking.

_ Not to mention the falling-in-love-with-you part _ , Marty thought.  _ And the fact that I think you might love me too. _

“Leavin’ you here,” Marty said, turning to watch Rust from the doorway. He meant the domesticity - how natural all this felt; how easily Rust fit into his life. He tried making light of it. “Must be mad to leave a pretty thing like you in bed while I swan off to work.”

Rust rolled his eyes. “That’s it. I’m goin’.”

Marty quickly crawled back onto the bed and pinned Rust down to keep him from getting up.

“Stay. Long as you want.” Rust let himself be held down with an annoyed look that didn’t quite register as genuine. “Get some more sleep. Take a shower. Grab breakfast. Work on the case.”

Marty lowered himself, brushing his nose against Rust’s. “Wouldn’t be put out if I found you here when I got home, is all I’m sayin’.”

It was as close as he could state things without outright saying the words.

“You askin’ me to move in, Marty?” Rust whispered in a teasing tone. Marty snorted, surprised at how his heart jumped at the suggestion. He playfully pushed Rust’s face away, moving to continue getting ready.

Rust had other plans though, pulling a quick, complicated manoeuvre, landing Marty flat on his back with Rust - a very,  _ very _ naked Rust - on top of him.

“Are  _ you _ an option in this hypothetical scenario of me staying?” Rust rasped, eyes already blown and dark.

Marty knew he’d be late but he couldn’t say no; didn’t want to say no.

“Always,” he answered breathlessly.

\---

Marty arrived nearly two hours late, smelling of Rust and loose limbed from being completely fucked out. He didn’t try to hide the grin on his face as he walked into the bullpen. He got as far as draping his jacket over the back of his chair before Salter was barking at him from his office.

“Hart! Get in here!” But not even that could dampen his good mood. Marty swaggered into the office and sprawled onto Roy’s couch.

“What’s up, boss?” he asked, just for the pleasure of ruffling the Major’s feathers.

“Jesus fucking christ, Marty. You gonna start pulling this shit again?” He gestured up and down at Marty, indicating his rumpled clothes. “Calling into to work, showing up late…”

“I’ve been a model-fuckin-employee for months,” Marty drawled, rolling his eyes. “Did I miss anything important?”

“It a girl?” Salter questioned, narrowing his eyes at Marty. Marty sat up straight on the couch and looked him dead in the eye.

“No. It’s not. There’s nothing to worry about.” Roy looked dubious and Marty felt a twinge of guilt. He didn’t have any reservations about pursuing this case unofficially, except that he’d be fucking over an old friend. He sighed. “Listen, it’s just some… personal shit. I’ll probably need to take some vacation time… get it sorted.”

“S’long as it’s not your same ol’ song and dance. You don’t have Cohle to do your legwork for you anymore.” The Major gave him a pointed look.

_ Ouch _ .

“Message received. I won’t be late again.” He wouldn’t, not with Rust disappearing on him. The reality that Rust was going to be out there without Marty at his back brought his good mood crumbling down on him. It must have shown on his face, because Salter came around his desk and perched on the front edge - it was his  _ man of the people  _ move.

“You’re right. You’ve been… exceptionally reliable recently so just… get your vacation request in. Don’t go getting emotional on me,” Roy said, looking uncomfortable.

_ Fuck off _ , Marty wanted to say. It felt strange to have this massive…  _ thing _ in his life that he couldn’t share. He knew his days here were numbered and still he was able to look his Major in the eye.

“Yes, sir. Anything else?” His voice sounded brittle in his own ears and he really hoped Salter was done with him.

“No. Get to work.”

Marty tried. He really did. He managed to prepare his deposition for the trial he was testifying for later in the week. He put in his formal vacation request, knowing he was pushing it asking for three weeks at once.

At the end of the day, he felt like he’d barely done anything at all because of how often his mind had strayed back to his apartment: the guest room, the case, Rust…

He emerged from the station after dark and Rust’s truck immediately caught his eye. He pulled his cell from his pocket and saw  _ [3 MESSAGES] _ . He jogged over to the open driver’s window where Rust was smoking. He leaned his forearms against the frame.

“Fuck. I’m sorry, Rust. I didn’t-” His voice caught when Rust curled his fingers into the hand not holding the phone.

“I’m leavin’. Wanted to say goodbye.” He wasn’t looking at Marty. He stroked his thumb over the indentation on Marty’s ring finger. “In person. ‘Fore I head out.”

“What? Now?” Rust grunted. Marty wanted to protest but he wouldn’t. But this wasn’t how he’d pictured saying goodbye. He turned his hand over and caught Rust’s fingers with his own. Rust tangled them together. 

“Can you- can you tell me anything?” He already knew the answer to that. “Can you at least promise to check in? Something?”

“Not taking my cell - too risky. Got us both burners. Left yours on the bed.” The knot in Marty’s chest loosened slightly. “Still risky, but…”

“You call me first hint of trouble. You fuckin’ hear me, Rust?” Rust finally looked at him, the corner of his mouth quirked. “You call, I’m there.”

“What if I get lonely?” Rust asked, leaning towards Marty. “Can I call you then?”

_ This fucking asshole _ . Marty knew Rust was trying to dispel some of the tension; knew he was just as worried as Marty.

“However I can be of service.” It felt good to do this, to flirt with Rust and realise that so much of their banter over the years had this potential. “I’ll be free. Taking vacation.”

“Just like ninety-five,” Rust mused, stubbing out his cigarette in the ashtray. “How long?” 

“Three weeks, starting next Monday.”

“More incentive to get done quickly,” Rust said in a deadly serious tone, cupping the back of Marty’s neck with his free hand. Marty’s eyes widened. 

_ He’s gonna fuckin' kiss me. _

He couldn’t stop his reaction. His whole body went rigid. It wasn’t that he cared they were in semi-public. It was because of how grim Rust looked, like he wasn’t just saying goodbye for a few weeks. Rust immediately picked up on his reluctance and tried taking his hands back, but Marty gripped tighter and brought his hand up to stop Rust from withdrawing.

“Hey-” Rust frowned at him so Marty met it with a sly smile. “Don’t stop playin’ hard to get on me now, darlin’.”

“Marty…” Rust whispered, fingers tightening on the side of his neck, thumb stroking his jaw.

“This isn’t a goodbye. You’re coming back.” He dragged Rust’s hand up to his mouth and kissed his palm. “You’ve ruined me for anyone else. You have to come back.”

Rust smiled. It was still tender around its edges, but that glint of steel that Marty loved was back.

“You really  _ do _ know how to flatter a guy.”

“Not just any guy. _You_ ,” Marty said, bracing himself and stepping back from the truck. He studied Rust, trying to memorise every little thing about him. “Now, get out of here before…”

He didn’t know how to finish that sentence but it was clear Rust knew what he meant. Rust put the truck into reverse. When he looked into his rearview mirror, the loss of his focus felt like a drop in pressure, like a touch he hadn’t known was there until its absence made itself known.

“See ya, Marty,” Rust said, after he’d backed out of the parking space.

“See ya, Rust.” It was their usual farewell, but this time, it felt stilted.

Marty stood in the parking lot long after Rust had drove off. The weight of regret kept him in place. He should have kissed him. What the fuck had he been thinking? Who cared if it was goodbye? It could have been and he’d never get another chance.

He pushed those thoughts away.

He should have at least pulled him from the damn truck and hugged him, but then he laughed at himself, knowing that if he had, it wouldn’t have stopped at a hug. Not with him and Rust.

Marty finally made his feet move in the direction of his car. He flipped open his phone and read Rust’s messages from earlier.

_ today _

_ cant leave like this _

_ im outside _

It was such a pittance but Marty could feel everything Rust hadn’t said in those handful of words. Marty couldn’t ignore that the last message had been sent over an hour ago. Rust had waited. He slid into the driver’s seat of his car and took a deep breath. The next weeks were going to be hard. As difficult as what Rust was undertaking, being the one left behind might just drive Marty mad. He knew why it had to be this way. He still didn’t have to like it.

_ Rust, you asshole. Just wait until you get back _ .

When he saw Rust next, he was going to tell him.

\---

There was a note and a key waiting for Marty on his bed along with the phone Rust had promised. 

_ Marty- _ _   
_ _ Number’s already programed in. Answer any call. You know the drill. _ _   
_ __ -Rust

Just like ninety-five, indeed. Marty couldn’t help but feel the note was rather… disappointing. It looked like it’d been ripped from a notebook. It even had notations left on it:  _ *pg47 _

He turned the phone and key over in his hands before pocketing them both. He assumed the key was to Rust’s place. It was actually thoughtful, in a weird Rust way. He probably knew Marty would miss him, and if anyone knew how sentimental Marty was, it was Rust.

As an afterthought, he carefully folded the note and secreted it away in his wallet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Hollow Talk by Choir of Young Believers
> 
> I really love this chapter for some reason. ;_______;


	13. Don't Mean I Can't Learn Your Ways

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty missed Rust and in his absence, discovered what had been in front of his nose the entire time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// mention of suicide and That Tape from the show

###  **Week Seven**

####  **Friday-Sunday**

Marty didn’t hear anything from Rust for two days and when he finally did, it was a short text on the burner.

_testing_

Marty fucking hated this man. He wanted to tell him just how much. Instead, he shot off a cartoonish string of symbols.

_F@*$ off_

He was pretty sure it got his mood across. If anything, the short message just reminded him to worry.

####  **Monday-Tuesday**

Marty didn’t know what to do with himself since he didn’t have work to go to. After sleeping in and eating an idle breakfast while staring at his burner phone, he realised he really was going to go crazy if he didn’t find something to do.

So he got dressed like he was going into the station and set to work on the evidence. Rust had left everything behind, including his ledger, so Marty started combing through it. He took notes and jotted down relevant questions to pose once Rust was back. Those, he posted on the wall across from Rust’s wall of evidence. He tacked them next to the lightswitch so that Rust couldn’t fail to notice them should he come back when Marty wasn’t there.

He didn’t think it was likely, but there was always the possibility Rust could slip in and disappear again before he noticed.

He spent the entire afternoon leading up to his appointment with Dr. Thompson looking through Rust’s ledger. He didn’t know why he’d never looked at it before. Seven fucking years and he knew so little about what went on inside Rust's head.

Each page was a work of art, densely packed with drawings, diligent notes, and indecipherable scribbles. He started at the back, where the most recent cases were - this case and the Marshland Medea. There were less sketches here and more cramped, manic writing. Parts of it were almost like a journal; more like Rust’s general thoughts rather than anything specifically related to a case. He tried very hard to gloss over these. They were none of his business, but he saw enough to tell him how bleak things had turned for Rust in those final months.

How had Marty not realised how bad shit had gotten for Rust? How had be been so blind? How had Marty pushed Rust so far away that he couldn’t come to him with this?

His own name caught his eye a few times and he was forced to tear his gaze away.

He knew the answers to all of these questions and hated himself for them. He hated the man he’d become in these last few years. He’d had Rust _right there_ and he’d been blind to how much the man believed in him until he’d broken that trust with his carelessness.

Marty turned through the pages faster, not really wanting to see evidence of all the ways he’d failed Rust. He slowed as he went back further because he could see a shift in Rust. The closer he drew to ninety-five, the more things changed.

Gone was the cramped writing and the jagged, angry lines. Portraits started to appear, taking up entire pages. Rust was actually an incredible artist. Marty recognised some of them from cases - suspects or known associates - but one face showed up over and over: Marty’s.

Rust had admitted to watching Marty and Marty had sensed it back in the day. But he’d had no idea that Rust’s gaze was recording what he saw with such care, because that’s what was clear in the multiple views of Marty. Rust cared- or had cared. And he’d cared deeply.

Even to his untrained eye, Marty thought he looked handsome in every single portrait; far more handsome than he knew himself to be. It was intensely flattering and also insanely confusing. Did Rust still see him this way?

And if so, why did he stop drawing?

He tried seeing himself through Rust’s eyes. For every admirable thing Rust might have seen in him to make him focus on Marty like this - he touched his fingers to the shaded line of his jaw on the page - there were a dozen more failings that negated them. Rust had distanced himself from Marty because Marty wasn’t worthy of such admiration.

Especially towards the end, when he’d tripped up again and started fucking around. Rust had to have known.

_You moron._

Rust had definitely known. In the end, he could hardly bear to look Marty in the eye.

Rust and his fragile belief in the good of people. And there Marty had been, shitting on Rust’s faith in him. It hadn’t been the Medea case. It had been Marty that had started unravelling the ties that bound them. He’d done it just when Rust had needed him most; when Rust found himself staring into the darkness again.

Marty closed the ledger and pressed his lips to the cover. He wanted to be the man Rust had captured on these pages - not the Marty of ninety-five but the man he _could_ be, the man Rust saw in him.

These drawings- These words- Rust’s recent behaviour told Marty something he’d slowly begun to suspect about Rust: that his assumption that Rust didn’t feel for him was based on bad evidence.

Marty sat on the floor thinking about Rust - reevaluating everything that had passed between them in the last several weeks, the last seven years, given this new information - until it was time to leave for Dr. Thompson’s.

\---

“I think this will have to be our last session for a while, Doc,” Marty said without preamble, sitting down on the couch opposite Dr. Thompson. “It’s not you, it’s that case I mentioned.”

“I’m sensing you’ve had an eventful week. Why don’t we start with that and if you still want to terminate our arrangement, we can discuss that at the end of the session. Sound good?”

“Sounds good.” Marty wiped his hands on his slacks and settled back into the cushions. “So… I took your advice and reached out to Rust.”

She blinked at him in that maddeningly calm way of her’s.

“Left a message at his work and he called me back, high as a fucking kite…” He heaved a sigh, remember the ache he’d felt at Rust’s pain.

“Does Rust have a substance abuse problem?”

Marty almost laughed.

“Big time. He… It’s complicated- everything is with him. Man worked undercover Narco for years before coming here. Only saw him trip up a handful of times in our years together. But yeah, he’s an addict and he’d not argue the point.” Marty rubbed his hands together, thinking of Rust showing up drunk for dinner and of Crash.

“He slips when he starts feeling things. He’s not so good with emotion. Something we've in common. Anyway, he called me and we talked about the case. We’re- we’re working it together.”

“Is there not a professional conflict for you, as a cop?” Marty gave her a look that he hoped read _No shit_. She seemed to get it and continued. “And your personal relationship?”

“That’s the thing… there’s no separation - personal, professional. It’s all bled together. I was worried about him OD-ing that night so I got him over to my place to keep an eye on him.” He sensed her alarm before she was able to say anything. “I know! I know how it sounds but nothing happened. He… tried, but I put him to bed. Wouldn’t have meant anything like that.”

“I assume he said some things while under the influence.”

“Quite a few things. Told him that he could tell me again when he was sober. But there’s one thing that’s stuck with me. He told me that I’ve been forcing him to make all the decisions, and he’s right, I’ve been passive - or pretending to be - in this whole… thing. And I realised how unfair that’s been.”

“Why do you think you’ve fallen into that role?” Dr. Thompson asked. She was sitting forward, like she was truly interested.

“Honestly?” Marty braced his hands on his knees, mentally bracing himself. “As long as all of it - the sex - wasn’t really _my_ idea… I didn’t have to think about, you know…”

“Your sexuality and your romantic feelings for your partner.”

“Exactly.” Marty held his hands up - _guilty as charged_. “It’s been really fucking unfair to Rust and dishonest- just dishonest, all around.”

“Did you talk to him about this?”

“I told him what I wanted - the sex and… and the love; the romance. _Everything_ , basically.”

“And how did he respond?”

“Spooked him, I think,” Marty chuckled, remembering Rust’s reluctance on the phone and his trembling resistance before giving in. It had been Marty’s words - _It’s okay. I got you_. - that had let Rust surrender to what was between them. “I thought for a long time that it was a lack of feeling on his end but… I’m starting to see that it’s the opposite. I think he cares about me- I think he cares about me a frightening amount.”

Marty realised he was smiling. There was a pressure behind his eyes and in his throat.

“What makes you think that?”

“Because I realised that he was afraid- Of me. He’s afraid of my inconsistency, my wandering eye… everything I am. Because he’s not someone that loves lightly- man does nothing in half-measures. He’s loved two people- maybe just one- in his life.”

“So you’ve resumed your professional relationship and your sexual relationship?”

“Oh yeah,” he answered, unable to stop the huge grin that spread over his face.

“Are you counting yourself as one of the people Rust loves?”

Marty balled his hands into fists and pressed one to his mouth. _Did_ he count? He remembered Rust’s ease with him after sobering up, the casual affections that had passed between them since, and the way Rust had given himself to Marty in bed. There’d been no walls, no distance, between them anymore. “Yeah… yeah, I think… maybe I am.”

“Do you plan on telling him how you feel? Explicitly?”

“I will, but at this point-” He unclenched his hands, searching for the words. “Telling him I love him would just be a confession; just words. He’s seen me break my promises too many times for words to be enough. I want to _show_ him. He’s still waiting for the other shoe to drop and words aren’t going to make him fear that any less. What’s the point of me saying something that is ultimately selfish?”

“Love is selfish, Martin.” Marty nodded. “The nature of love is its inherent duality: selfishness and selflessness.”

“I just don’t think now is the right time. The right time is coming though and until then, all I can do is love him as best as I can.”

“How are you going to avoid the pitfalls that ended your marriage? You mentioned you believe Rust is afraid of your history of infidelity.”

“I loved Maggie. I loved- I love my girls. I loved having a family.” Marty shrugged. It was true. “I didn’t love marriage. I felt stifled. There were a lot of expectations that were forced onto me- and that’s on me. I got married without thinking much about it and didn’t communicate with Maggie.”

“But with Rust- God, how do I even put this into words? It’s not a marriage. We didn’t choose each other. We were forced together by chance and out of that, we forged something. We worked at it. I think we’ll always have to work at it.

“The difference is that I don’t feel like I need to fit myself into a box with Rust. I can just _be_. It takes off a lot of the pressure. By the end with Maggie, I didn’t want to fight for the relationship because it felt like all it would lead to is me forcing myself back into that box.

“Call it a midlife crisis or whatever. Neither of us was happy in the end; too many little wounds and hurts. Splitting up was the right decision. Went about it the worst way possible, but it’s good, that we’re done.

“With Rust… Both of us keep fighting - sometimes mistakenly fighting each other - but now we know. We’re just starting to know. I’m starting to get glimpses of what a life would be like… Rust is wild, undoubtedly. But he needs someone that understands him just as much as anyone does.”

Marty stopped himself, realising he was gushing. He felt like the emotions he’d been trying to put names to for so long were forcing their way up his throat and out into the world. And he couldn’t believe that he once believed they were opaque.

“Infidelity,” Marty said, dragging himself back to the topic. “Rust is the embodiment of what I’ve been looking for my whole damn life: reliable and wild and passionate and smart and- and he needs me, just as much as I need him. I’ve never had that before. I’ve been wanted. I’ve been needed. But Rust? If he ain’t as close to the whole package, then I don’t know-”

Marty realised Dr. Thompson had stopped taking notes a while back and he felt his cheeks colour at his unchecked adour.

“I know it’s probably unhealthy and codependent but… I can’t help myself with him. I love him.”

“I can see that. I can also see that you’re aware of the possible downfalls that await you.”

“I don’t expect it to be easy,” Marty agreed. “Hell, I almost don’t want it to be easy. Worth fighting for and all.”

The timer chirped on the desk.

“Well, Martin. What do you think? Do you want to return next week? Perhaps we could switch our sessions to every other week, since you seem like you’re handling things better.” She stood, brushing her hands down her pants to smooth the wrinkles. “Up to you.”

“I’ll see you in two weeks, Doctor.” Marty stood and held out his hand. She gave him the first full smile he’d ever seen from her and shook his hand. Her beautiful deep brown eyes showed him his own reflection like they always did.

Marty didn’t so much mind what he saw there now.

####  **Wednesday**

The day of visitation, he broke the girls out of school early and they went shopping at the mall. It was, frankly, exhausting, but seeing both of them giddy with the taboo and the freedom was worth the hit to both his energy and his wallet.

At the end of the day, they ate dinner in the food court. Audrey got a smoothie and a soft pretzel, Macie ordered a salad, and Marty - idiot that he was - opted for the Chinese booth. He was already anticipating a night filled with heartburn.

They’d barely sat down at a table when Macie spotted some friends and bounded off to chat with them. It was then that Marty realised he hadn’t been alone with Audrey in months, if not more. He certainly couldn’t remember the last time they were alone together.

“So… got to report?” he asked, fishing for anything. Even though things between them were a bit better, he still didn’t really know what to talk to her about. He felt a hot shame well up in his chest that he didn’t know anything about his eldest. “How’s school?”

“Pretty good,” she said, picking at her pretzel. She was less eating it than pulling it apart. “I- Uhm, I applied to a few colleges.”

His ears pricked up. “Yeah? And?”

“I got into my second and third choices… wait listed for my first, but Loyola offered me a scholarship.” A soft blush had spread across the fullest part of her cheeks. Marty recognised that blush. He blushed the exact same way. “I think I’m gonna go.”

Marty beamed and had to cover his mouth with his hands at the sudden, overwhelming emotion he felt. Audrey looked up through her eyelashes at him.

“It’s not a full ride or anything. FAFSA should help a bit. But it’s gonna be expensive…”

“Baby,” Marty said around the lump in his throat. “You gotta know I’ll help you out, right?”

“I didn’t wanna assume.” She shrugged, looking off to the side. “I know you’ve been disa-”

“Hey- Audrey. Look at me.” She pressed her mouth into a thin line, reminding him of Maggie, but she did slowly drag her eyes up to meet his. “I never got to apologise for what I did. It was… unforgivable. But it didn’t have anything to do with you. It wasn’t you. It was me that was the disappointment.”

He reached across the table and tentatively laid his hand over hers.

“If you knew the shit I got myself into when I was your age… I had no right to take my own fears and insecurities out on you.” He gave her hand a squeeze. “I hope you know how fucking proud I am of you.”

Audrey’s eyes widened at the swear and Marty winked at her. She gave an uncertain smile. It was pretty damn clear that they needed time to get to know each other again - as adults rather than as the uncomfortable roles of _father_ and _daughter_.

“Loyola…” Marty wondered aloud, returning to his dinner. “You’re gonna love New Orleans.”

“Mom thought you’d freak out about it, because of the crime.”

“Oh, I will. Get ready for it,” he said glibly, pointing his fork at her. “But for now, I plan on being in denial. Besides, who’s gonna mess with a kickass chick like you?”

Audrey’s pink cheeks flared into a full-blown flush. “Dad…”

This was the part of parenting Marty liked best. Embarrassing them was just too much fun. The fact that they both were turning into people he could be proud of - no credit due to him - was a wonderful bonus. He never thought- He thought he’d fucked up too badly with Audrey, but looking at her, all he could see were the best part of both him and Maggie.

“Fair warning, I’m gonna give you a hug after we’re done eating.”

“ _Dad…_ ”

“Sorry, I don’t make the rules,” he said around a mouthful of General Tso's. “Gotta start thinking of a graduation gift now too.”

Audrey’s eyes went wide and surprised. He was happy that he could offer this, but the assumption that he wouldn’t be helping with her college or participating in senior year traditions stung a bit.

He knew he had no one to blame but himself.

Macie chose that moment to flounce back. Her friends wanted to stay and play at the arcade for a few hours. The _no_ was already on the tip of his tongue when Audrey piped up.

“I can stay with them. I’m supposed to drive Mace home anyway and I can make sure they don’t get into any trouble.”

“As long as you let your mom know where the two of you are,” he stipulated. Marty felt his shoulders relax. “And let’s not go overboard. A little trouble is okay.”

He handed Audrey two twenties - the last of his cash - and watched as the group of teens moved down the promenade, joking and generally being far too loud. He remembered that age, however obscured by the years in his memory, and despite the tight knot of anxiety letting his girls go off into the world, he knew it was the right thing.

He stayed for a few more minutes, toying with his cold chicken before giving it up as a bad job. Then he made his way to the bookstore, laden down with the girls’ purchases. He’d finished his book and needed something new to keep his mind occupied.

Half an hour later, he left with a few books for himself, with an eye for books Rust might also enjoy. He ended up with a novel about a murderous perfumist, _In Cold Blood_ \- because he remembered being fascinated by the case as a young officer - and something Russian a sales person called a _modern classic._

Maybe he should get a library card.

####  **Thursday**

After a day of reading, Marty felt like he was going out of his mind so he went for a drive after the sun had set, with the windows of the car rolled down and no set destination in mind. It’d been a long time since he’d done this. Probably not since Maggie and him were dating.

He’d forgotten how relaxing it was.

He’d also forgotten how he tended to end up at places he didn’t necessarily need to be, but when he pulled up in front of Rust’s bar, he just rolled with it. He parked next to Rust’s dark and empty place.

Stepping through the door was like being greeted by Rust. It smelled like him and for long minutes, Marty stood in the dark, breathing him in. Tendrils of calm worked their way up his back like a touch.

 _Rust_.

Fuck, he missed him.

He turned on the light and then made his way to the bedroom with the vague idea that he’d straighten the place up so Rust would have something nice to come home to. Once in the doorway, he saw that Rust had already left things immaculate. The bed was made, the books along the wall were organised. Then something caught his eye: there was a hefty volume laying on Rust’s pillow. He recognised it as the book Rust had been reading that first day he’d come barging back into the man’s life.

Marty sat on the mattress and reached for the book. It was a collection of Spanish literature. He laid down, angled across the bed and flipped through the pages. He held it tilted towards the light coming in from the living room.

In a million years, Marty would have never guessed Rust would read something like this. For one, it was too heavy to comfortably read in bed, and secondly, it looked like the majority of the works were about love.

The book was in Spanish so most of it was meaningless to Marty, but Rust had marked and annotated certain lines or whole poems he liked. He stopped on a dog-eared page - page forty-seven - and abruptly sat up, digging for his wallet.

He pulled Rust’s note out carefully. Already the creases were wearing thin. He unfolded it to be sure he remembered correctly and yes, there was the scribbled page number at the bottom of the sheet: _*pg47_.

He picked the book back up from where he’d dropped it. Some pages had bent and he did his best to smooth them out before turning back to the marked page. On it, there was what looked like an excerpt from a play. It started quite a few pages back and continued on for dozens more, but on the page there was one line very deliberately underlined:

_Arder en deseo y mantenerlo en silencio es el castigo más grande que podemos llevar con nosotros mismos._

In the margin, there was only a single annotation in Rust’s hand:

_Marty._

Marty didn’t have to know what the line meant, although he knew he’d look it up the first chance he got. The meaning was clear in the care that had been taken writing out Marty’s name. He’d wanted Marty to see this, or at the very least, had considered the possibility.

Marty pulled out his phone and took a picture of the page, then tucked Rust’s note to mark the spot. He doubted his own courage to bring it up, but he wanted Rust to know he’d seen.

He placed the book back on the pillow exactly as he’d found it and then lay down next to it. Closing his eyes, he conjured up the memory of that first time - the heat and sadness and desperation of it - and the way Rust had curled up on his side away from him.

He reimagined them here together again, with the way things were now, and couldn’t imagine Rust turning away from him like that again. He couldn’t imagine letting Rust fall asleep so far away from him again.

Despite Rust being miles and miles away from him now, Marty fell asleep on Rust’s bed - his head full of images of Rust to the point he could almost feel the weight of him in his arms.

###  **Week Eight**

####  **Friday**

The call came in the early hours of the morning. Marty was jerked awake, the disorientation of being suddenly woken compounded by waking in a strange place. He didn’t recognise the number on the screen. He answered anyway.

“Rust?” Marty said thickly. He rolled onto his back, overheated and groggy. “That you?”

“Yeah. It’s me.”

“Are-” Marty sat up, trying to shake the fog of sleep from his brain. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Marty,” Rust said softly. “Burner got wet and… I just needed to hear your voice.”

Marty felt like he’d been punched in the gut and he fell back against the pillow again. “You don’t sound okay.”

“When am I ever?” Rust said with a bitter chuckle. He almost sounded as though he was talking to himself. “It’s only been a week, for fuck’s sake…”

Marty knew how he was feeling. It was stupid and ridiculous to feel like this as a middle-aged man. But it did neither of them any good to dwell on it right now.

“Did you say your phone got wet? How the fuck?”

“Fell into some rich asshole’s pond.” Marty laughed, the suddenness of both the noise and the happiness surprising him. “It was dark.”

 _God, I love you_ , he wanted to mutter fondly.

“I’m sure it was,” he said instead. “Any luck?”

“Not yet,” Rust blew out a sigh. “Got a few more places to hit…”

A vague image was forming in Marty’s head: one where Rust broke into influential people’s estates with a very un-Rust-like clumsiness.

“You being careful?” Marty asked. “Other than pulling a Mr. Magoo?”

“Timely,” Rust replied sarcastically to his teasing. “As careful as I can be.”

“Okay, good…” Marty trailed off. He wondered where Rust was right now; if he was in a motel room or at a payphone. He decided to take his chances, lowering his voice and letting it rumble pleasingly. “So… Rustin… you feel up feel up to some phone sex?”

Rust sucked in a breath, but Marty could hear the smile in his tone. “Yeah, baby. Thought you’d never ask.”

Marty flicked open his jeans button one-handed and slipped a hand into his boxers to palm himself.

“We never did finish exploring the idea of me fucking you, did we?” he asked with more confidence than he felt. The way Rust’s breathing stuttered told him all he needed to know. “Lay back, darlin’. Let me tell you what I wanna do to you.”

“Save it, Marty,” Rust gasped. That sound went straight to Marty’s cock. “Wanna experience that for the first time in person. Just… talk to me about what you like…”

“Fuck, Rust. Where do I even start?” Marty liked everything Rust had done to him, so he started at the beginning. “When you bent me over, let me feel just how strong you are… Let me know just how easily you could take me…”

“I’ll have to manhandle you more,” Rust muttered. Marty nearly choked on the thought of wrestling with Rust with the ultimate goal being pleasure rather than violence. He wasn’t going to last much longer at this rate.

“ _Please…_ When you _do_ take me like that. _God_ , that first time. Right here on your bed. You were unforgiving and- Never thought I’d want… that I’d let… But you, Rust. _You._ All those times you fucked me rough and hard - the stall, the couch…”

Marty groaned as he stroked himself, remembering how Rust had known just how to make him come.

“What about you?” he whispered. “What do you like? What was your favourite?”

“That morning you blew me. Fuckin’- never been more surprised. Would have never thought- Not from you-” Rust was breathing so hard it was hard to understand him. “You were… brave- selfless… Shocked the shit out of me.”

“You just wait, darlin’. The things I wanna do to you…” And he was going to get to. Everything and more, besides.

Rust came, his groan close and intimate in Marty’s ear. Hearing Rust let go like that pushed Marty over the edge with Rust’s name on his lips. They stayed on the phone for a few minutes, just catching their respective breaths.

“Marty…” Rust began, but then faltered. _Say it_ , Marty wanted to tell him. “I- I can’t wait to come home.”

 _Home_. That was almost as good as what Marty wanted to hear; what he wanted to say to Rust.

“You’ll be back soon enough. I’ll be here, waiting for you. Okay?” Marty didn’t want to say goodbye. He wanted Rust to already be here.

“Thank you,” Rust whispered. Marty’s heart stuttered. He could only remember one other time Rust had utter those words to him so they carried a particular weight now. He didn’t know what to say though. _You’re welcome_ seemed almost inappropriate.

“Thank _you_ , Rust,” he muttered back. “Get some sleep. I-”

He couldn’t say it. The pronoun hung there between them, unfinished and lonely.

“Goodnight, Marty,” Rust finally said, breaking the silence and saving Marty from himself.

“Night, darlin’.” The line went dead and loneliness welled up inside of Marty again, almost worse for having spoken to Rust.

 _Just a bit more_ , he reminded himself, pulling Rust's pillow to his face and breathing in.

####  **Friday-Monday**

He didn’t hear from Rust for four days. Not that he was counting.

He was definitely counting.

####  **Tuesday**

The news broke around mid-day. Marty was eating a very late breakfast on the couch when his program was interrupted.

_“Beloved pastor and cousin of the Governor Edwin Tuttle, Billy Lee Tuttle, was found dead in a hotel of an apparent overdose. He was in the middle of his yearly Faith and Followers tour, leaving thousands grieving the loss of a great man…”_

Marty sat his bowl down hard enough that milk sloshed onto the coffee table. He swiped at it with his palm, but was too distracted to do much more than that.

 _Holy shit_ , was his first thought. Then, _Rust, where are you?_

\---

The Tuttle story took over the news cycle for the rest of the day, wild speculation running rampant - Tuttle was an addict, he’d committed suicide, he’d been assassinated. Marty turned off the news and worried himself to point of distraction. Not even keeping himself busy helped.

He had just stepped back into the apartment after putting in a load of laundry when he heard his burner ringing. He nearly tripped over his own feet getting to the phone.

“Rust? Rust? Please tell me that’s you.”

“You’ve seen the news, Marty?” is all Rust said in response.

“The Tuttle thing? Yeah. Hard to miss. I can’t belie-” Rust cut him off.

"Think I caused it, Marty," Rust said in a flat voice and Marty finally tuned into the dead way Rust was speaking.

Something had happened. Something bad.

"You mean you... Did you-?" Surely Rust hadn’t.

"I didn't kill him, if that's what you're afraid of.”

“I didn’t think you did, but the way you were-” Marty took a breath. “What happened, then? Are you safe?”

“Yeah, I’m safe. For now. But… Marty, I found something in one of his homes. A tape. Don't know what's on it, but the shit I found with it... I don't know if I want to know what's on it." Rust took a deep breath. “Happened over the weekend and now this. The timing is…”

“So what? You think he killed himself over it being stolen?”

“That or the others involved punished him for it.”

Marty sat down on the couch and rubbed a hand over his face. _Holy shit_. He realised he’d said it aloud belatedly and repeated it. “Holy shit.”

“Yeah. Which would mean this is… bigger than we thought. I’ve been lying low since I found this shit, making sure I wasn’t being followed.” Rust voice sounded tiny and small. “I- Marty, I don’t think I can come home.”

“What the fuck you on about. Of course you can. You have to. We-”

“Marty!” Rust growled, voice suddenly stern to the point of anger. “You have _kids_. Do you know… I can’t lead this back to your doorstep.”

Marty leaned forward, looking down at the carpet. He put every ounce of resolve he felt into his voice.

“Rust, I appreciate the chivalry, but you get your ass back here so we can reevaluate. You hear me?” On Rust’s end of the line there was reluctant silence. "You don’t get to make this decision for me. Come home, Rust. We're in this together. Until the end."

More silence with only the sound of Rust’s breathing to indicate that he hadn’t hung up.

“Yeah, okay,” Rust finally sighed. He didn’t sound happy about developments at all. “I’ll leave now.”

“Come straight here. You said it’s a tape? VHS?” Rust hummed. “Okay, I’ll go get a player and… should we make copies?”

“Best be prepared. I’ve got a bad feeling about this thing. Even without whatever- there're photos, Marty.” The disgust was clear in his voice.

“It’ll be okay. We’ve got this. I’ve got you. I-” Marty caught himself just in time - not in the midst of all this - but Rust was already speaking.

“I- yeah, me too. Be home soon.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from warm blood by flor.
> 
> I have a love/hate relationship with writing phone calls. :P


	14. Always All For You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rust came home and Marty was there to greet him exactly as he'd promised.
> 
> AKA Marty finally put his mouth to a better use.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TW// Rust mentions liking pain in bed

####  **Tuesday**

Marty spent the rest of the evening in a state of jumpy, nervous energy. He ran to the nearest electronics store and dropped far too much money on a dual-deck VHS player/recorder and a pittance on some blank tapes. He knew the copies would be inadmissible but the more hands they could put this in - if it turned out to be anything at all - the better.

He stopped and got groceries too, because knowing Rust, the man hadn’t had a good meal since the last time he ate with Marty.

Once home, he found himself wandering from room to room, looking for things to do; ways he could be ready for Rust’s return. He’d washed Rust’s clothes that he’d left behind, he’d changed the sheets on the bed, he’d put out bedding for the couch just in case Rust wanted to stay but wanted to sleep alone. He’d even hauled his fireproof lockbox out from under his bed, thinking they could put the tape in there with his important documents.

It’d been years since he’d opened the thing and when he finally guessed the combination, he was confronted by evidence of a different kind: his outdated will, life insurance policies, the girls’ sonograms, a polaroid of Maggie and him on their first date. He stared down at it - the two them grinning at each other - not really seeing the photo but rather lost in the memory. He couldn’t even remember what they’d done or who had taken their picture, but he remembered how he’d felt and the way his cheeks had hurt from smiling.

This thing with Rust didn’t feel like that at all and for that, he was grateful. This wasn’t falling in love, he realised - or perhaps he’d fallen so slowly, he hadn’t realised it. This was walking into love with his eyes wide open. He was no longer that naive kid in the photo. He was older and jaded and scarred beyond measure, and he knew exactly what he was getting himself into.

Despite their rocky start, he felt the solid foundations of this thing - this  _ relationship _ \- settling under his feet. They’d already had seven years to suss out each other’s peccadilloes, and the last few months to feel out what the reality of - Marty was going to call it what it was - love would mean between them. 

It was Rust. It’d been Rust for a very long time. And Rust, the little shit, had known there was potential. Marty was left playing catch-up. But they’d stumbled into this new thing together and they’d go forward together. They’d figure it out.

“If I’d been an intruder, you’d really be fucked,” Rust said from behind him. Marty got to his feet, knees popping, and turned. The polaroid fluttered from his hand, forgotten. Rust was in the doorway. He gave Marty a tight, tired smile. “Hey…”

In two steps, Marty had him in his arms, but not quick enough to miss the surprise on Rust’s face. His arms were slower to come up and return the embrace, like he was in shock at the greeting. There was a bag slung over Rust’s shoulder that got in the way, but Marty pulled him as close as he could, tucking his nose into Rust’s neck.

“Hey,” he muttered against Rust’s skin.

“Gosh, Marty. Didn’t know you’d miss me so-”

“Don’t do that,” Marty said, drawing back and looking him in the eye. He ran his hand up Rust’s arms and cupped his face in his hands. “Of course I missed you. Every fucking day, Rust. I- I don’t want to pretend anymore.”

Rust swallowed visibly. He looked tired and worn. He needed a meal and a shower and a long sleep. But first-

“I’m gonna kiss you,” Marty told him, already leaning in. “That okay?”

“Yeah… okay,” Rust replied, eyes falling half-closed. He swayed into Marty and let his bag drop to the floor. His hands gripped Marty’s sides as Marty kissed him gently; just the barest, lingering, chaste kiss.

_ Welcome back _ , the kiss said.

Rust sighed against Marty’s mouth and Marty pulled back.

“What do you need first? Food, shower, or sleep?”

“I’ve got to show you-”

“In the morning.” He brushed his thumbs over Rust’s cheekbones. “Let me take care of you, for once.”

Rust smiled in a way that made Marty feel like he was missing the joke, then turned his face into one of Marty’s hands. He opened his eyes.

“I need water first and then a shower.”

“Go.” Marty turned him by the shoulders and nudged him in the direction of his bedroom. “I’ll bring you a glass of water.”

To his surprise, Rust went without complaint. Marty moved Rust’s bag into the guest room with his foot and locked up, before going to get Rust his drink. When he got to his room, he found a trail of discarded clothing and Marty had to pause. He didn’t want to read too much into what could easily just be a habit of Rust’s. He didn’t want to assume that Rust had been thinking about what they’d talked about just a handful of nights ago.

Rust wanted Marty to fuck him. Marty desperately wanted to fuck Rust.

“I can hear you fretting. Bring me my water, Marty,” Rust called over the sound of the running water. Marty slowly entered the bathroom.

The sight that awaited him was the stuff of his dreams. Rust’s form was partially obscured behind the translucent shower curtain, but he could see enough. It was almost better than seeing everything, in a way. It reduced Rust to his base elements: broad shoulders, narrow waist, and long, muscular legs. Marty got to admire them as Rust ran his hands over his skin, washing himself; touching himself so casually in intimate places.

Rust stuck his head out from behind the curtain and reached silently for the water. Marty handed it to him wordlessly. Words had abandoned him. Rust tipped his head back and drank the entirety of the glass in several long gulps. Marty couldn’t help but stare at the elegant line of that neck and the way Rust’s adam’s apple bobbed.

He realised he was getting an erection and tried to look away, but Rust had already finished and was looking directly at him.

“Have you finally figured out why I stared at you yet?” he asked simply, handing the glass back to Marty, then crooked a finger. It was playful, in a subtle Rust way. “Get the fuck in here.”

Marty didn’t need to be told twice. He yanked his clothes off as fast as he could, not even conscious of Rust’s eyes on him. What was the point in playing coy now?

He scrambled into the shower, careful not to be too hurried on the slick surface, but eagerly pressing himself against Rust and kissing him deeply. Rust melted into his arms, like this was just what he needed. Marty lost himself in the kiss, the heat of the water falling on them, and the slick friction of Rust’s body against his own.

He was so absorbed in kissing Rust properly that it took him a few minutes to realise that while he was hard against Rust’s hip, Rust wasn’t aroused. Marty pulled back just enough to look at Rust.

“Something wrong, darlin’?” he whispered, lips still brushing against Rust’s.

“I’m-” Rust made a face. “The shit I saw…”

“Okay,” Marty reassured, kissing him softly and trailing his fingers down the line of Rust’s spine. “What do you need? We don’t have to-”

Rust let his head fall onto Marty’s shoulder.

“I’ve been thinking about this since…” Rust trailed off.

“That phone call?”

“You think-?” Rust chuckled tiredly. “Years, Marty.  _ Years _ .”

_ Years? _ Marty thought, surprised. He tangled a hand into Rust’s hair and pulled his head back. Rust cracked his eyes open. There was no hint of teasing there. Rust was serious.

“Rust…” he breathed reverently. Rust tried to shake his head; tried to backtrack, but Marty tightened his hold. He let the fingers on Rust’s back travel lower… lower… Until they slipped between Rust’s cheeks and pressed in gentle circles around his hole.

Rust huffed out a breath but continued to look levelly at Marty. Any other time, Marty would be blushing furiously, but Rust’s calm trust just made him feel powerful.

“Okay?” he muttered, voice rough with desire.

In answer, Rust sighed deeply and tipped his hips against Marty’s thigh in encouragement. He was hardening and it made Marty’s mouth water. He wanted to drop to his knees and-

And what was stopping him?

He turned Rust away from him and knelt on the hard porcelain, pressing a lingering kiss to each of the dips above Rust’s ass. Rust’s hands hit the tiled wall hard enough to make a slapping sound.

“ _ OhfuckMarty _ ,” Rust mumbled, already widening his stance so that his feet were braced against the sides of the tub. Marty gently bit the fleshy mound of one of Rust’s buttocks.

“You ever have someone do this?” he asked - half out of curiosity, half out of his desire to draw this out. He wanted to give Rust time to forget about the thoughts that were plaguing him. Marty gripped Rust’s ass and massaged the muscle.

“Nono _ no _ . Never. I’ve always wa-” Marty spreading the cheeks with his thumbs and licked with the flat of his tongue, firm and straight up the middle. “ _ Ohshi…” _

Rust’s curse transformed into a strangled whine. Marty smiled and repeated the slow drag of his tongue from just behind Rust’s balls to his hole. He tasted and smelled of Marty’s soap, but Marty knew that soon he’d be able to get hints of Rust’s natural scent as he sweated and strained.

Marty had always loved doing this. He’d introduced many of his partners to how sensitive this tight ring of muscle could be. He lapped lazily, tracing his tongue in a circle; first clockwise, then counterclockwise.

“Oh my god,  _ Marty _ …” Rust moaned, and any of Marty’s lingering doubts that switching things up would mess up their chemistry disappeared.

“Shhh, darlin’. I got you.” He pressed kisses to Rust’s lower back, his buttocks, the crease of his upper thighs, then one more directly over his center. Rust’s legs trembled and he let out a shaky breath. “I got you, baby.” 

Marty didn’t need to see to know that Rust was probably fully hard and leaking now, but Marty was in no hurry. He was going to keep at this until Rust begged to be fucked. He shifted one of his hands so that he could press his thumb to Rust’s opening and lick around it, teasing.

“Marty… please…” Rust whispered plaintively. He leaned harder against the wall and pushed back onto Marty’s tongue. Marty stroked his thumb in firm, repetitive passes. “ _ More _ .”

Marty gave it to him. He swiped one last pass with the flat of his tongue and then swirled tighter, working his tongue into Rust; slow but unrelenting, opening Rust up.

“ _ Ohholyshit _ .” Rust’s arms gave way and he pressed his forehead against the tiles. He was panting already. Marty wished he could see the look on Rust’s face. He needed to see Rust undone by Marty’s touch.

_ Soon enough _ , he reminded himself, trying to ignore his own erection. He wanted to push Rust against the cold tile and fuck him hard and fast, but Rust deserved better than that.

He thrust his tongue into Rust, wiggling it when it was as deep as he could force it. Rust was wriggling back, trying to get him deeper.

“ _ Fuck- _ shit- you don’t fuck me soon I’m-” Marty cut him off by fucking Rust with his tongue, in imitation of what he was going to do to him soon. Rust growled through gritted teeth. “Marty- take me to bed. I swear-”

He would have sounded threatening if his voice wasn’t breathy and weak. Marty gripped Rust’s hips and got to his feet, his knees protesting. He wrapped his arms around Rust’s lean frame and rutted his cock between Rust’s ass cheeks and over his hole. He lingered for a moment, trailing fingers down Rust’s torso and over his erection, swiping a thumb across the precome beaded on the head. Rust arched back against him, grinding his ass against Marty’s cock and then tipped his hips into Marty’s hand around his hard on.

Marty turned him and captured his lips in a breathless and desperate kiss. Rust clung to him, trying to get closer. He didn’t think Rust was physically ready yet, but he didn't think either of them could wait. He broke away and turned off the shower.

“Bed,” he said to a dazed looking Rust. He followed him out of the shower, a hand between Rust’s shoulder blades until they reached the bed. “On your knees.”

Rust looked over his shoulder and raised an eyebrow at Marty’s bossy tone. Marty pushed him towards the bed and Rust crawled onto it, completely bare and unashamed on all fours. Water beaded and ran down his limbs, dripping onto the bedding. Marty took himself in hand and drank Rust in for a beat, before turning to get the lube. In a matter of seconds he was shuffling close behind Rust.

He uncapped the lube and applied it liberally to the first two fingers on his left hand. He set the bottle close by, then touched Rust with slick fingers. Rust immediate pushed back onto them, taking them to the second knuckle easily.

“Jesus, Rust,” Marty breathed in awe. He ran his right hand up the centre of Rust’s back. “S’like you were made for this.”

Rust rocked on his knees, essentially fucking himself on Marty’s fingers. Marty waited until Rust settled into a rhythm and then thrust forward, meeting Rust, the next time the man rocked back. Rust groaned and his arms buckled. He buried his face into the comforter, muffling whatever he was saying.

Marty added a third finger and Rust hissed at the stretch. He turned his head.

“I fuckin’- hate you- Hart,” he panted as Marty pushed… pushed… pushed until Rust was tight around all three digits. Marty leaned over Rust’s back and kissed his neck. 

“You don’t. I know you don’t.” Marty slowly pulled out his fingers and blindly reached for the lube, slicking himself up. He slid his slick cock against Rust, letting the head catch on the rim of his hole.

“No-  _ no… _ I- oh _ fuck _ \- I don’t. I-” Marty angled his hips and kept the head of his cock poised there. Rust tried wriggling back, but Marty held him pinned down with his chest. “ _ Please, ohfuuuucK _ . Marty…”

Marty sat back on his heels, losing contact with Rust. The man made a frustrated sound that turned into an  _ oomphf _ when Marty shoved him flat onto his front. Rust propped himself up on his elbows and twisted to give Marty an irritated look.

Marty ignored him, moving to straddle Rust’s thighs. Rust’s irritated look melted away as he saw what Marty was doing. He tipped his hips forward, planted his left hand near Rust’s shoulders and with his free hand, guided himself to Rust’s opening.

This time, he didn’t tease. He pushed into Rust, rolling his hips slightly. First, just the head. His eyes darted from where Rust was stretching wide to fit around him to where Rust had collapsed, torso twisted, face turned so that Marty could see the open mouthed surprise and pleasure written on his face. He rocked like that, fucking Rust with just the first inch or so, relishing the way the muscle stretched each time he penetrated him. He leaned forward and kissed Rust’s jaw. 

“More?” he asked softly. Rust’s eyes moved underneath his lids as he sighed. 

“Everything,” he pleaded, pushing his ass back as much as he could to take more of Marty.

“I don’t want to hurt you, darlin’.”

“I-” Rust opened his eyes and turned his face into the mattress, muffling his words, but Marty could still make out his confession. “I like it to hurt.”

“God…” Marty stopped moving and pressed his forehead against the back of Rust’s head. “Rust…”

“I’ll tell you if it’s too much.” He reached and found the hand Marty had planted on the bed, curling his fingers around it. “I trust you.”

“Okay- yeah, okay…” Marty still paused to add more lube - an excessive amount, but he didn’t want to hurt Rust, even if he liked it. Not without a long conversation beforehand. - before beginning to thrust in.

Rust’s fingers tightened. The hand that wasn’t holding Marty’s clenched into the bedsheets. His breathing was irregular, his muscles tense.

“Breathe, love,” Marty whispered. Slowly, as Marty sank into him, Rust relaxed.

And then Marty’s hips were flush against Rust’s ass.

“ _ Fuck _ ,” they both muttered. Marty's heart swelled with love, but it still wasn't the time.

He reached for Rust’s free hand and threaded their fingers together. He had a surreal moment, thinking about how they’d always rubbed each other the wrong way. This is what had been missing; this admission, this connection… this love. Then he realised Rust was mumbling under his breath.

“Never thought I’d get- oh, Marty, if you only knew- how often- and thisthis _this_ -” Rust arched under him and Marty met him, less a thrust and more shifting inside him. “ _Oooh…_ _This_.”

“It’s okay,” Marty whispered back, pulling out and thrusting in carefully. Rust’s breath caught in a hiccough. He was saying it as much for his own benefit as for Rust’s. “It’s okay.”

“Can I have this?” Rust asked in a tone that made it clear he wasn’t truly asking Marty.

“You can-  _ We  _ can…” He fucked Rust slow, pinning his hands down. Marty was completely in control and Rust took everything; wanted everything.

“Marty… I don’t- I don’t deserve- This won’t-”

“You do,” Marty said vehemently against Rust’s temple, thrusting harder. Rust moaned, fingers tightening with Marty’s. “You  _ do. _ ”

He repeated the mantra each time he fucked into Rust until Rust was nearly choking on the noises he was making - desperate and needy. Marty had never seen him like this before. There was none of the control that he associated with the man. All his walls were down and Marty  _ saw  _ him for the first time.

He saw Rust - all his darkness and beauty and the masks he hid behind - and felt himself trip up at the revelation. He tripped and fell in love a little bit more. There was no way back from this.

He pressed gentle kisses to Rust’s jaw, neck, shoulders, back…

He could see his future stretching ahead of him: the fights and the way they would grate against one another and the certainty that Marty would be falling bit by bit for the rest of his life.

\---

Marty woke up in the middle of the night and stared into the dark trying to figure out what had woken him. Rust was draped over him, head on Marty’s chest, leg hooked over one of Marty’s. Marty laid there, breathing Rust in and expecting to fall back asleep.

It wasn’t until his bladder forced him from bed that his unease made itself known: he had something to lose that he didn’t want to do without. 

He stood in the bathroom door and watched the dim form of Rust on the bed. He’d reached out in his sleep to the empty space Marty had left, leaving him sprawled on his stomach. In that moment, Marty was struck by the reason Rust had drawn the same face over and over for years. It wasn’t the subject that changed, it was the viewer. He wished he had the capacity to capture how he saw Rust; not as he was but how Marty saw him.

Losing Maggie had been painful, like losing a long term partner should be. There were times he still missed her with an accuity that haunted him. But he missed a Maggie that didn’t exist anymore, maybe never had. Rust was different. Rust hadn’t just been his partner; he’d been his brother-in-arms. There were certain experiences that couldn’t be explained and Rust had been there with him through them all.

Marty had something rare and precious with Rust that he didn’t think most people would even recognise - multilayered and insensible and far too complex for even the two of them inside of it to understand. Losing him now would be like severing a limb. He’d already felt the promise of the pain in the months after their fight and the weeks after their separation. If Marty lost Rust now, he would feel the ghost of that lost forever.

With these thoughts swirling in his head, he didn’t think he could sleep so he crept into the living room to quickly grab his laptop. It was a bulky, department issued hulk but it was good for typing up emails or browsing the internet. He settled into bed next to Rust again, smiling when Rust snaked his arm around Marty’s waist and pressed his face against Marty’s side.

Rust was quite the cuddler. Who would have thought?

He booted up the computer and spun the volume wheel down as far as it’d go, loathe to wake Rust. He spent a while reading the updates about Tuttle. There wasn’t a single hint of the shit they were about break open, just more of the same platitudes -  _ a good man _ ,  _ loved by his parishioners _ ,  _ statement from the governor _ . Marty was finally forced to give up on it in disgust.

Then he remembered the quote from Rust’s book and reached for his phone on the bedside table. He had to hold the phone in one hand and peck type with his other, but he got the whole line entered into the search engine. His finger hesitated over the  _ ENTER _ button. Did he really want to know what it meant?

He hit enter.

The translation came up as the first result and he opened up the page. It was nothing like what he’d expected; it was so much more. He touched the tip of his pointer finger to the words that tugged at his heart:  _ burn _ and  _ quiet _ and  _ punishment. _

_ Rust _ , a cuddler and a romantic.

He closed the laptop and sat both electronics carefully on the side table, then slumped down into bed, pulling Rust into his arms. The man half-woke, obviously still exhausted from the last few weeks, and Marty pressed his lips softly against Rust’s.

“Marty,” Rust sighed without opening his eyes.

“Sorry for waking you, darlin’. Go back to sleep.” Rust hummed and tucked his face into Marty’s neck.

Marty was in no rush. He could wait for Rust to say the words. Even if he never did, Marty knew they were true, and he’d make sure Rust never had to suffer in silence. Everything Marty was, he’d happily give to Rust.

He pressed his lips to the crown of Rust’s head and mouthed the translated line. He’d have to make a point to read some of the poet’s work. He had the feeling it would give him a further glimpse into Rust’s mind.

What was better was he had an entire lifetime to figure the man out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from What If by Safety Suit.
> 
> The quote that Rust underlined was from Federico Garcia Lorca's play, Blood Wedding. "Arder con deseo y mantenerlo en secreto es el mayor castigo que podemos traer a nosotros mismos" which translates to ”To burn with desire and keep quiet about it is the greatest punishment we can bring on ourselves.” I wrote Rust in this story as accepting and feeling he deserves this punishment.
> 
> I think Rust would love Lorca's works, but more importantly, his life and the man. He was an amazing poet, playwright, and advocate. He was openly gay in early 1900s Spain. He was killed by Franco's militia for his outspoken, leftist views. He was only 38 years old. His body has never been found.


	15. Epilogue - When I Wake, You're There

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Marty stopped counting the days and lived.

The days bled into weeks, and the weeks into months. Rust and Marty watched the tape exactly once - once was too many - and immediately hired a lawyer. The rest was a blur.

Rust didn’t so much move in with Marty, he just stopped going home. Neither of them made a big deal about it because it wasn’t a big deal. There were much bigger things to deal with. Yeah, there were days where they were at each other’s throats, but they always found their way back to one another. They’d always communicated better through actions than words, but afterwards - laying in bed together - they found the words anyway.

Copies of the evidence went out to the FBI and various other law enforcement agencies. They also sent edited versions and additional information to several news agencies. All contact was done through the law firm. Rust was adamant that they remain anonymous for as long as possible.

_ You’ve got  _ kids _ , Marty. _

Marty sometimes thought the man feared more for Marty’s family than he did. There was a low-level paranoia that Rust carried around for months. He wouldn’t let Marty run errands alone and insisted that he was always armed. Marty thought it was all overkill until Rust was infuriatingly proven right for being overly cautious.

A few masked men tried jumping Marty in the parking garage of the mall. He was stabbed but he managed to shoot one of the men. The other two ran for their fucking lives. Marty called 9-1-1 while covering the moaning attacker until the cops and ambulance showed up. The knife wound was little more than a slash to his forearm, but it required stitches.

Marty begrudgingly called Rust in the back of the ambulance.

“So here’s the thing…” 

 

In the hospital, a tense and furious Rust told him that the man was a Childress.

“I can’t believe you’d be so fucking stupid,” he growled at Marty. “Why were you alone? What the fuck did you need at the mall?”

Marty shrugged and didn’t admit until he was released later that night that he’d been picking up Rust's anniversary present. It’d been six months since they’d inadvertently walked back into each other’s lives.

“I know it’s silly, but-” He didn’t know how to explain aloud that it meant something to him, as arbitrary as the milestone was. Rust looked down at the wristwatch Marty had special ordered with a peculiar expression on his face. “Look, I’m sorry. I shouldn’t ha-”

“Shut up, Marty,” Rust said before pushing Marty against their bedroom wall and kissing him senseless. He dragged Marty to bed and fucked him into the mattress with a desperation he didn’t often let show.

“You fuckin’ idiot,” he whispered, holding Marty’s face while deep inside him. “Not allowed to leave me behind. You hear me, Marty?”

“I won’t,” Marty promised, pulling Rust into a kiss.  _ I’m not going anywhere without you _ , he thought, remembering the words he’d had inscribed on the reverse of the watch:  _ arder en deseo…  _

Luckily, the man lived and confessed that he thought Marty was merely involved in the developing criminal case. He had no idea that it was Rust and Marty that had broken the whole thing wide open. The story made the news, forever tying Marty’s name to the media fervor as Louisiana was torn apart by what they’d set into motion. 

 

That was the end of them living in Lafayette. It was the end of Marty’s career as a cop.

When he handed in his resignation to a thin-lipped Salter, the man begrudgingly took the envelope and groused. “Should have known it was the two of you fuckers.”

Marty didn’t think it was a coincidence that soon after this, he started getting calls for interviews. He got ridiculously tired of repeating “Under the advisement of my counsel, I cannot agree to an interview.”

“You could just say ‘No comment’,” Rust teased after the dozenth call.

“Yeah, but I want to sound smart.”

“Good luck with that.” Rust kissed him on the cheek.

“Why don’t you ever get this shit, by the way?” Marty asked grumpily. Rust just rolled his eyes, like it should be obvious. The man was nothing if not good at disappearing.

 

They moved to New Orleans first, which Marty loved because he was close to Audrey. They arrived during summer break and were immediately roped into helping Audrey pack her paintings into a trailer. She’d been accepted into an art fair up north in Kansas City. They all headed up there together. Even Macie tagged along.

Marty revelled in the normality of it all. He found himself grinning while the girls bickered in the back seat and Rust frowned over a mess of accordioned map in his lap. He didn’t care if they were lost. He didn’t care if he had to drive all day. He reached over and took Rust’s hand, kissing the man’s knuckles. The bickering turned into whispers behind them. Rust raised an eyebrow at him, eyes darting towards rear of the car. Marty shrugged. He didn’t care anymore.

It was on that trip that the kids started calling Rust  _ Uncle _ . The first time struck the man so speechless that Marty laughed at him. Rust got his revenge though, planting a kiss on Marty in front of the girls and then walking away with a smug smile. Audrey catcalled him and Macie giggled. All Marty could do was blush and gruffly tell them to get back to work.

“You’re not too old to ground, missies,” he growled, fumbling with the booth tent he was trying to set up.

“Relax, dad.” Audrey came up beside him and gave him a one-armed hug. “It’s cute.”

“You’re making it worse.” Behind them, Macie’s giggles increased.

“I’m really happy for you. And Rust?” Audrey said, flashing him an oblique, conspiratorial smile. “He’s  _ hot _ .”

“That’s it! You’re grounded!” Marty yelled, stalking away, his face aflame. The girl’s laughter followed him.

 

The art fair only lasted the weekend, but the four of them decided to stay in the area for the rest of the week. At Macie’s request, they made a day-trip to Lawrence - something about a television show - and spent hours wandering around the quaint shops and the university campus. Marty had to admit, the small town reminded him a bit of Lafayette, but greener and far more hilly.

“I love it here,” Macie said, looking up at the bell tower.

“It’s got a good pre-med program, I hear, “ Rust offered. Macie nodded, eyes wide. Marty could see the ghost of dreams in their reflections.

“Maybe you should apply.” Rust sidled over to him and threw an arm around his shoulders.

“I gotta agree with your youngest, Marty,” he said in a low voice. “Area’s growin’ on me.”

Marty turned a skeptical eye on him. “We just moved.”

“Yeah, so?”

“Always forget you’ve nomad blood,” Marty murmured, but he didn’t hate the idea. Being this far away from Louisiana had allowed a part of him to relax that he hadn’t even realised was tense. It wasn’t just Lafayette that was tainted, it was the entire state. Marty slid an arm around Rust’s waist. “I’ll consider it.”

But he already knew he’d say yes. Marty’d give Rust anything he wanted and a fresh start was probably just what they needed.

 

After a few months of the reporters harassing him, Marty let his lawyer arrange a book deal. He’d always wanted to write; always thought it’d be crime fiction, not true crime, but life he was finding, was impossibly strange. 

They used the advance to buy an old farmhouse in the Metro outskirts. It was close enough to the city to not be boring and close enough to Macie to make visiting easy, but far enough that they didn’t have to deal with the traffic or crowding. Or make Macie feel like her father was keeping tabs on her. They made the move when Macie started university a whole year early. She even landed a full ride between her athletic and academic scholarships. Marty couldn’t be more proud.

Rust planned on renovating their new place while Marty wrote. In the end, they both helped each other out with their respective projects, like they did in everything. It took almost a year but the book was published on the anniversary of Tuttle’s suicide and did respectably well;  _ Black Stars  _ stayed on the bestsellers list for nearly six months. Marty still thought it would have made a better piece of fiction.

Well enough that he got an advance for a second book about his experiences as LASPD. He started writing fiction on the side. When Rust saw the end of renovations in sight, they tossed around the idea of starting up a PI agency, but for now they were comfortable and busy. 

 

It was an unremarkable day nearly two years into their new partnership - Marty steadying the base of a ladder for Rust as he put up siding - when Rust finally surprised Marty.

“How’s your follow-up goin’?” he asked around a mouthful of screws.

“Oh, you know. It’s like pulling teeth.” He gave a shrug Rust didn’t see. “Don’t think the publisher realised how boring most police work is. I’m having a hard time livening it up.”

“You can always try talking it through with me, like you did before. Seemed to help you find the narrative.”

“Yeah,” Marty said, pulling a face. “Tonight?”

Rust didn’t say anything for a long time, focusing on screwing the sheet of plywood in place.

“Ya know, I was thinkin’... After this place isn’t a shithole. Be a good place for a wedding.” Marty’s head jerked up to look at Rust far above him. He was looking down, poker face firmly in place.

“You serious, Cohle?”

“You ever known me to joke,  _ Hart _ ?” he grumbled, clanking his way down the rungs.

“Not even once,” Marty answered with a smile once Rust was eye-level with him.

“So?”

“I don’t see a ring on this finger,” Marty teased, holding up his left hand. He made light of it, but he’d been prepared for this day for months, just waiting for Rust to be ready. He’d never expected it to come so soon.

“Forget it,” Rust groused. “I don’t want to marry you anyway.”

He stepped off the ladder, turning to move away, but Marty caught him by the wrist. He pulled him back and kissed him. His mind was on the ring waiting in the back of his desk drawer. He’d give it to Rust tonight.

“Yes, you do,” Marty said flirtatiously.  _ I love you _ . Rust gave a single-shouldered shrug.

“Yeah, I do.” Marty could hear Rust’s answering  _ I love you too. _

On the inside of the ring:  _ to never keeping quiet. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Title from Lifeboats by Snow Patrol.
> 
> Finally, we come to the end and I'm sad to say goodbye to these two.

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the wonderful song I Know How To Speak (acoustic) by Manchester Orchestra
> 
> Playlist: https://open.spotify.com/user/kayebee77/playlist/3Vam81rfUaEEiAz49A167S?si=Z_Dd2dLJQx-e_5dySvHqzQ


End file.
